


Harry Potter and the Evil Dot Theory

by motleygrrrl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bottom Draco, Bottom Harry, First Time, Fluff and Smut, HP: EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Humor, M/M, Potions, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 06:35:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7497915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/motleygrrrl/pseuds/motleygrrrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even though the war is over, Harry is convinced that Malfoy is up to something. He's been quiet, withdrawn, and hasn't spoken a single word to Harry all term—clearly the Slytherin is planning something evil. And despite what Ron and Hermione say, Harry is determined to prove his theory correct.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Mature Content abounds. There is also the possibility of slight ridiculousness. Prepare yourselves.

"Please, Harry," Ron groaned. "Don't start this again. Not this year. This is supposed to be a _happy_ year."

Harry stared at his best friend in growing frustration. "Ron, I can't help it if that's the reality, though. I didn't ask for it to be this way."

"No! You're _making_ it be this way," Ron argued furiously. "You're seeing things that aren't there. Hermione thinks you're bored without all the constant danger and you're imagining things in an attempt to make the school year more exciting."

Harry adopted a hurt look. He was not _imagining_ things. His growing suspicions were all perfectly legitimate, thank you very much. It was not his fault if certain people were incapable of becoming reformed. Clearly, Malfoy was up to something and Harry intended to find out what it was.

Opening his mouth to tell Ron just that, the redhead cut him off. "Malfoy is not up to anything, Harry," Ron hissed. "Just stop obsessing over him already!"

Harry nodded tightly but said nothing. Maybe it had been a mistake to share his suspicions with Ron. Evidently, he no longer cared if there was evil running loose in the castle. And that evil was obviously blond.

"Just promise you won't start following him again, at least," Ron sighed.

At those words, Harry's fingers began to itch, longing to draw the Marauder's Map from his bag and scan it for Malfoy's dot. His evil dot. Probably doing evil things _right now_ and Harry was just sitting here, not doing anything to prevent them.

"Bloody hell, Harry!" Ron swore. "Have you actually _seen_ him do anything shady this term? At all? Seen him hex anybody? Let any deranged werewolves loose in the castle? Make any first years cry? For fuck's sake, have you even heard him speak this term?"

At the question Harry's eyebrows raised. Had he heard Malfoy do or say anything? He wasn't so sure, but it didn't matter.

"That's exactly why it's so suspicious, Ron!" Harry argued in a low voice. "He's been so quiet, not saying anything or strutting around like his usual arrogant arse. He's clearly planning something terrible—maybe even worse than last time." At Ron's raised eyebrows, Harry flushed.

"Worse than last time?" Ron echoed in disbelief. "You really think he's planning something worse than unleashing Death Eaters in the castle or trying to kill Dumbledore?"

Shrugging helplessly, Harry shook his head and sighed. "All right, maybe not," he relented grudgingly. "But he's up to something!"

Ron just gave him a pitying look. "You really need a hobby, mate."

Green eyes shot him an icy glare. Thwarting evil was a perfectly acceptable hobby, one he had been doing practically since birth. And the evil he thwarted was never imagined. It was real and it was dangerous and it was _still_ happening. Just because Voldemort had been defeated didn't mean all the evil in the world had died with him; the evil had simply reverted to a form less noseless and more blond.

"Whatever," Ron grumbled, slamming his textbook shut. "I can't concentrate anymore, I'm going to bed." Joints popping, he stood and collected his parchments, books, and quill from the table in the corner of the Gryffindor Common Room the two had been working at. "You coming?"

"In a minute," Harry said. "I just have a bit more left on this essay, may as well get it done now." Trying to force a casual tone was not as easy as it should have been, but Ron seemed to believe it well enough.

"All right," the redhead nodded. "Night, then." He turned to walk away but paused before twisting back around. "And please, Harry, for the sake of my sanity if not for anything else, drop the Malfoy subject."

Resolutely not looking his best friend in the eye, Harry nodded.

"Good," Ron sighed. Shifting his belongings in his hands, he crossed the Common Room and trudged up the stairs out of Harry's line of sight.

Quick as a flash, the Marauder's Map was spread open across the table and green eyes were scanning it earnestly. "Malfoy…Malfoy…" Harry muttered, looking for the Slytherin's dot. The _evil_ dot that was _clearly_ up to something. As Harry spied it, he grinned smugly. Malfoy was alone and, according to the map, had broken into Snape's old office. _Ha, suck it, Ron_.

Already planning all the enthusiastic _I told you so_ 's he would assault Ron with first thing in the morning, Harry quickly piled his books together and folded up the map, tucking it into his bag atop his Invisibility Cloak. Both Ron and Hermione had asked him why he still carried it around with him everywhere he went, but he could only shrug and tell them it was habit.

Slipping out of the portrait hole, he swung the cloak over himself, disappearing into the heavy darkness. It was well past curfew. The corridors were empty and Harry's footsteps echoed lightly off the stone walls as he made his way to the dungeons, pausing every now and then to check the map to make sure that Malfoy was still in Snape's office.

If Harry was being truthful with himself, he wasn't actually sure what he expected to find. He had no idea at all what Malfoy might be up to—he only had the niggling suspicion that the blond was up to _something_.

Malfoy had shown up at the start of term different: he no longer spoke in a loud condescending drawl or ordered people around. He no longer strutted up and down the corridors as if he owned the school or threatened students and staff alike with the wrath of his father. He kept his head low, spoke to almost no one, and refused to look in Harry's direction. All fucking term. All of which could only mean one thing: he was clearly planning something horrible.

Although to what purpose, Harry wasn't sure. All he knew was that he needed to keep an eye on Malfoy. Just in case.

As he neared the room he slowed, creeping toward the door and casting a silencing charm before breaking the admittedly weak locking spell Malfoy had cast. But the fact that he had cast one at all made Harry even more suspicious.

The door was eased open gently, just enough for Harry to slip inside the room and shut it before glancing around. It was nearly exactly the same as he remembered—low ceilings, dim lighting, stone walls covered in shelves still groaning beneath dusty jars. The only thing missing was the overbearing presence of Snape, swooping out of the shadows and deducting House points. But even without the man, Harry was surprised to find the office largely untouched.

The eyes that had been busy scanning the room focused almost immediately on the slash of white-blond hair bent over a cauldron set up atop the large desk in the center. The slim boy was facing away from Harry and muttering as he counted anti-clockwise stirs aloud.

Deciding against waiting all night for the Slytherin to finish his potion, Harry silently removed his cloak and waited until he had set the stirrer aside before speaking. "Malfoy."

Malfoy whirled around, grey eyes large and wild. Harry took a moment to wonder how he knew the color of Malfoy's eyes so certainly when he was unable to distinguish between inky pupil and the silver surrounding it in the dim lighting of the room, but he pushed it to the back of his mind for the moment. What was more important: eye color or stopping evil?

"Potter," Malfoy choked, then straightened and attempted to adopt his usual cool demeanor. "What are you doing here?"

"What, you mean hanging out in a dead professor's old office instead of sleeping?" Harry raised an eyebrow and gestured toward Malfoy. "Apparently everyone's doing it."

Two pale fists clenched tightly as rage flashed across Malfoy's face—a rage that Harry hadn't seen in a very long time. At the feeling that swept through him at the sight, he paused. Had he possibly _missed_  Malfoy's tempers? 

But the next second the blond had regained control and the anger had faded behind his smooth mask. "You followed me." He spoke in a tone of voice that suggested boredom but held himself far too stiffly for it to be believed.

Harry shrugged. "Obviously someone has to."

"And you so graciously volunteered for the job," Malfoy sneered.

 _Ah, there's the Malfoy I recognize_ , Harry thought victoriously. "So you're saying you aren't up to anything at all anymore, then?" One eyebrow still raised, Harry glanced around the room pointedly. Malfoy turned pink.

"This isn't the same," he replied stiffly. "This isn't anything _dangerous_."

"Yeah? And what is it, then?" challenged Harry. "What are you doing sneaking around at night breaking into offices for?"

The glare Malfoy leveled him with made him fidget uncomfortably. "Yes," he hissed. "Because I'm clearly the only one sneaking around at night breaking into offices."

Harry felt his face heat as he turned away. "I'm just making sure you're not up to anything."

"For fuck's sake, Potter!" said Malfoy angrily. "I'm brewing a potion for _me_. A perfectly legal potion, I might add. Certainly not one meant to harm anybody."

"So what does it do then?" Harry asked curiously in spite of himself. The potion was tangerine-colored and the steam it gave off almost crimson. Despite his conviction that the potion was to be used in some sort of nefarious plot he still had yet to figure out, he found himself intrigued.

"It's a Retention Potion," the blond sighed heavily as if resigned to having to explain himself. "It's very difficult to make and is meant to aid in studying. All right?" The grey eyes narrowed. "Nothing malevolent about studying, is there? Not that you would know."

An uncomfortable prickling was beginning along Harry's neck. A Retention Potion to help him study? _That_ was his evil scheme?

"You just…want good marks?" Maybe achieving good marks was the first step in Malfoy's real evil plot. Maybe once he secured good marks he would…what? Secure a good job? Step number two on the path to evil?

"N.E.W.T.'s are coming up and I just want O's." Malfoy sounded exhausted, as though his earlier anger had drained him completely. "So if you'll excuse me…"

"How do I know you're telling the truth?" asked Harry suspiciously. As if Malfoy hadn't lied to him before. As if Malfoy didn't get off on lying to him.

"You don't," Malfoy shot back, anger returning instantly to the pale features. "But the days I owed you any sort of explanation are long past. In fact, they never existed. This potion is very tricky and I have to get the timing just right, so if you'll kindly _fuck off._ " And following the pointed glare, he turned his back to Harry and returned his attention to the book spread open next to his left hand. Lifting a large vial of dark liquid, he began counting drops.

"It's not like you've never done anything suspicious before," Harry argued petulantly, refusing to give up so easily.

"So I should expect to see you lurking in my shadows keeping tabs on me for the rest of my life?" Malfoy gritted out between clenched teeth. "Because of actions taken out of fear of a madman's threats made against the lives of both my family and myself?"

"Maybe not the rest of your life," Harry disagreed, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously. "Just until I feel you're not up to anything depraved."

"Depraved?!" Malfoy shrieked, whipping around to glare at him. "Fucking _depraved_? Fuck you very much, Potter! I knew I should have identified you at the Manor and been done with it!"

At his words, hot shame pooled in Harry's stomach. "So why didn't you, then?" he asked coldly, in complete contrast to the molten swirl of anger and shame spreading through his intestines. If Malfoy wanted him dead so much, why not seize the opportunity when it had presented itself?

"Perhaps I selfishly wanted to make it out of the war alive?" Malfoy drawled, voice dripping with sarcasm. "And naively thought you the only viable option for that wish? I assure you it was not done out of the desire to be accused by you of becoming the next Dark Lord."

Harry wanted to stamp his foot at those words. He was not accusing Malfoy of becoming the next Voldemort, only implying that the blond was slightly more than your average, everyday evil.

Opening his mouth to say something along those lines, he was stopped by a curse from Malfoy.

"Fuck!"

Harry's eyes widened as he followed Malfoy's eye line to the potion, now bubbling angrily and spilling over the lip of the cauldron. Several large bubbles popped wetly, spitting rust colored drops that landed in audible splashes along Malfoy's face and bare forearms. His robes were nowhere to be seen and both sleeves had been rolled up to his pale elbows. Raising his wand—a new wand, Harry noticed with another pang of guilt—he quickly vanished the entire cauldron, but his eyes grew larger as he noticed the colored drops staining his skin and lips—had any gotten in his mouth?

"Fuck," he managed weakly as his knees gave out. Harry ran forward, catching him just before he hit the ground.

Lowering the slim boy gently to the floor, he quickly vanished all traces of the liquid that had landed on the unconscious teen. _Fuck! Oh fuck, oh fuck!_ Harry began to panic, convinced that he had just killed Draco Malfoy. _Fuck, he told me not to distract him and now he's dead._

Two fingers slid along the skin beneath Malfoy's jaw, searching for a pulse. The beat beneath Harry's fingers was stuttered for several brief moments but slowly evened out, Malfoy's chest rising and falling gently. Harry sagged with relief.

"Malfoy?" he asked cautiously, tilting his head to peer closely at him. Harry had never seen him this close before. His skin was impossibly pale and appeared to be almost glowing in the dim light of the dungeons; his eyebrows and eyelashes were long and silvery and nearly translucent. His cheeks were hollow and elongated, lips thin and several shades darker than his alabaster skin. His hair, once worn slicked back so fastidiously, was now worn loose and swept gently across his forehead.

Harry's fingers itched and he had to fight the urge to brush the blond fringe out of the unconscious boy's eyes. With his eyes closed like that, he looked so peaceful, so beautiful.

The second the word passed through his brain Harry shook his head frantically. _I did_ not _just think of Malfoy as beautiful._

Luckily for Harry, at that moment a low groan issued from the other boy's mouth, drawing the brunet's immediate attention. "Malfoy?"

Grey eyes flicked open suddenly, startling Harry. A slow, lazy smile spread across the pale features.

"Hi," he whispered shyly.

"Erm, hi," Harry responded in confusion. "Are you all right?"

"Now that you're here, I'm fine," said Malfoy in the same bashful tone.

"Er, okay then?" Harry's confusion was growing by the second, as was his concern. What the hell did that potion do to him? "Good, that—that's good."

"So green," Malfoy breathed, looking him straight in the eye and reaching up one pale hand to trace Harry's eyebrows lightly. "So pretty."

Flushing, he ducked out of Malfoy's touch and clambered quickly to his feet. "Well, come on, then. Can't lie on the floor all night, can we?" he said with forced cheer. Was this real? Or was this part of Malfoy's plot? Was he attempting to flatter Harry into lowering his guard right before springing the villainy on him?

But as Malfoy blushed at his words and giggled, Harry felt certain this was no act. "Why don't you take me somewhere more comfortable to lie with you, then?" Malfoy suggested coyly.

Harry's cheeks burned and he turned away so Malfoy wouldn't see his embarrassment. Spying the abandoned textbook on the desk, he began scanning it quickly, hoping it would have an idea of what had happened to the boy still lying on the floor.

"Fuck. It only mentions side effects if the potion is touched before it's finished," said Harry in frustration. "It doesn't say what those side effects are." His eyes continued scanning the page. "Wait, it says that they shouldn't last more than a few hours, so that's good!"

"Yes, very good," a voice breathed into his ear, and Harry felt arms wrap around him from behind. "Excellent, in fact." One pale finger began tracing shapes into the fabric covering Harry's chest and he shivered at the touch.

"So, we should probably just take you back to the dorm then, yeah?" croaked Harry. Was Malfoy _caressing_ him? What the hell did that potion do to him?

"All right," the blond agreed instantly. "Let's go back to my dorm." His hand drifted lower along Harry's abdomen as he spoke and Harry quickly grabbed it before it could continue its downward path.

"Yes, we will take _you_ back to the dorm," he said firmly, spinning around to look Malfoy in his eyes. His very, very grey eyes, so very near Harry's own. Shaking his head swiftly, he squared his jaw.

"Aren't you coming with me?" Malfoy pouted, and Harry's gaze couldn't help but be drawn to those lips, looking impossibly pretty and soft when pulled into a pout. They were the lightest shade of pink and somehow delicate-looking.

"I, er, what?" Harry asked, tearing his stare from the blond's mouth—a mouth that quirked into a sly grin at Harry's obvious distraction.

"Why don't we just wait here for the side effects to wear off?" the mouth suggested. Wait here? With Malfoy and his perfect, lovely mouth? Harry nodded in agreement before he caught himself.

"Er, no, wait, what?" he stammered. "We can't wait here. What would we do?" The instant the words left his lips he regretted them. One corner of Malfoy's mouth pulled up into a seductive smirk.

"I'm sure I could find some way to entertain you, Harry," he purred. Did he just call him Harry? Did he just volunteer to _entertain_  the brunet? "You wouldn't just leave me on my own, would you?" As Malfoy spoke he shifted closer until he was practically molded to the front of Harry's body. "That's hardly very chivalrous of you, is it?" One pale finger gently stroked the length of Harry's cheek and he unconsciously leaned into the light touch.

"No, I s'pose not," Harry swallowed. Malfoy had a point. Harry could hardly just drop him off somewhere to care for himself when there was clearly something wrong with him, and it had been entirely Harry's fault that the potion had boiled over in the first place.

"Your eyes," Malfoy said solemnly, "are the loveliest shade of green. Like wild ivy or purest emerald."

Harry's lips twitched in amusement. Did Malfoy just compliment him? Call him lovely? Compare him to nature and gems? Maybe the side effects he was experiencing were all positive. Maybe Malfoy should always be doused in that potion.

"So green," he continued in the same formal intonation as if what he was saying to Harry was of the utmost importance. "So pretty."

"You think my eyes are pretty?" Harry chuckled. God, Malfoy would be so mortified the instant he snapped out of it. But for now…may as well enjoy the flattery.

"No," Malfoy answered, and Harry frowned and began to rethink enjoying the flattery—until the blond continued speaking. "I think _all_ of you is pretty."

 _I think all of you is pretty._ Did Malfoy just call him _pretty_? Harry's frown deepened. He wasn't sure how he felt about being called _pretty_.

But the next second he was distracted as Malfoy pressed his hips into Harry's and Harry felt an unmistakable bulge poking into him. Attempting to avoid the contact, he took a step back, only to be met with solid wood digging into his spine. He was trapped between Malfoy and the desk and was at a complete loss for what to do.

 _This was not exactly the evil I had imagined him to be up to_ , Harry thought wryly.

"Where are you going?" Malfoy asked. There was a sadness in his voice that gave Harry the unexplainable urge to comfort him; he wanted to wrap his arms around the blond and chase the heartbreak from his eyes.

"Erm, nowhere?" Harry replied sheepishly.

"Why are you always trying to get away from me?" The sadness was even more pronounced.

"No, I'm not going anywhere!" Harry said quickly. "Look, Malfoy, I'm here. I'm right here and I haven't gone anywhere." To emphasize his point, he placed both hands on Malfoy's shoulders, hoping his touch would comfort the blond.

"No, I can see it in your face," Malfoy shook his head stubbornly, breath hitching. "You don't want to be here. You want to leave." He dropped his arms and turned away from Harry, breathing rapidly.

"No, I'm sorry," Harry apologized as he stepped back in front of the other boy. "I didn't mean it. It's just that, you know, this isn't how you normally act and I suppose I'm just getting used to these side effects on you…" His words trailed off awkwardly as grey eyes met his own.

Pale arms were suddenly flung around Harry's neck as Malfoy clung to him tightly. "Course you are," he cooed, warm breath tickling Harry's ear. "I suppose I'm more used to it because I've always thought you were pretty. But I suppose I've never told you until tonight, so of course you're not used to it."

Harry wondered for a moment whether mood swings were part of the side effects, but then the words Malfoy had said sank in.

"Wait, _always?_ " he asked sharply, pulling back to look Malfoy in the eye.

"Of course _always,_ " Malfoy responded, rolling his eyes. "You've _always_ been pretty, so I've _always_ thought of you as such." His tone implied that he thought Harry really very stupid for not understanding what was so clearly a simple concept. "Your eyes are perfectly green and your hair is perfectly black and your skin is perfectly perfect," he continued in a sing-song voice. "You're perfect, Harry." His head bent forward and his lips ghosted over the skin of Harry's jaw, who was standing stock-still in a frozen daze.

Always? Perfect? _What?_

"No," he managed to croak. "You hate me." The light kisses being placed on Harry's neck and jaw did not pause.

"No, you hate _me_ ," Malfoy corrected. "I simply pretended to hate you back."

Harry felt dizzy; tilted and unsteady as if the entire world had slipped off its axis and was now dangling at a dangerous angle. Malfoy didn't hate him? He thought Harry _pretty_? Perfect, even? Had the potion somehow transported the real Malfoy somewhere else and replaced him with this new strange, flattering look-alike? One who knew how to do amazing things with his tongue and the skin of Harry's throat?

"Erm, Malfoy?" Harry asked uncertainly.

"Draco," the blond corrected.

"I, er, what?" As Malfoy's tongue traced over the tender skin below Harry's ear, he shivered and bit back a moan.

"Draco," the other boy repeated. "My name? You've never called me by it."

"Oh, er, right, sorry," Harry stammered. There was a reason, he was sure, that he should be pushing the blond away. Wasn't there? A very good reason. Probably almost as good as the feel of his earlobe in Malfoy's warm mouth. "Draco?" he tried again and felt a hollow disappointment when the feel of that mouth disappeared.

Malfoy leaned back to look Harry in the eye very seriously. "Harry?"

"Yes?"

"Please shut up now." And with that Malfoy jerked Harry forward into a kiss. Their mouths were suddenly pressed together and Harry felt his eyes widen in surprise. Malfoy sucked on Harry's bottom lip for a moment before pushing his tongue inside Harry's mouth and holding his face firmly between two palms. Malfoy held him tightly, kissing him with a fierce single-mindedness that Harry did not expect from the blond. There was a faint ringing in his ears and his head felt far too light.

Was Malfoy _kissing_ him? Was Draco fucking Malfoy _kissing_ him? And, gods above, was Harry kissing him _back_? As his hands twisted in Malfoy's shirt and pulled him closer, Harry felt fairly certain the answer was yes.

The instant his lips unfroze and hesitantly molded themselves to Malfoy's, the blond whimpered and clutched him even tighter. The kiss was searing, intense, almost less of a kiss and more of a pleasant struggle, but to Harry it was perfect. Malfoy clung to him almost desperately, kissing him passionately and making tiny sounds in the back of his throat. His body was warm where it fit snugly against Harry's and he was doing things with his tongue that the Gryffindor had never imagined.

 _The only thing missing is my ability to survive without oxygen_ , he thought dizzily as he pulled back to gulp in large lungfuls of air. Malfoy's lips did not stop their assault, moving down Harry's chin to the skin of his throat, sucking on both collarbones and the hollow between them before moving back up to the skin below his ear. Harry tilted his head and groaned.

"Harry," Malfoy murmured. "Want you. Want to fuck you."

Swept away in the sensation of it all, Harry hummed in response before his eyes flew open and his head jerked back, dislodging Malfoy's lips from their placement on his jaw. Ignoring the sounds of protest from the other boy, Harry shook his head frantically.

"No, Malfoy, no."

"Yes, Potter, yes," Malfoy insisted, silver eyes glittering.

"I—no—really—" Harry stammered. Fuck him? Malfoy wanted to _fuck_ him? Well, Harry supposed it really wasn't that big of a surprise, considering the way the blond had been attempting to devour him only moments ago. But _fuck_ him? Couldn't they just keep kissing? Harry was fine with kissing—as long as it wasn't the beginning of some sort of evil plot. But did Harry want to get fucked by Malfoy? Or anybody, for that matter? It sounded extremely unpleasant, not to mention painful.

Maybe that was the real evil plot Malfoy had been working toward. It sounded evil enough. And slightly intriguing, if Harry was being honest with himself, but mostly evil. _Yep, definitely evil_ , he decided, as something thick and hard poked him stiffly in the thigh.

"Malfoy, really, I don't—maybe we should take you back—OH!" His protests were cut off by a large gasp as Malfoy's hand reached down to cup him firmly through his jeans. He squeezed lightly and Harry rocked into his hand before he could stop himself.

"How about," Malfoy began, reaching out with his other hand to grab Harry's hip and still his motions, "you fuck me first? And _then_ I'll fuck you."

Fuck him first? Malfoy wanted Harry to fuck him? That particular plan didn't sound so evil. In fact, it sounded like the opposite of evil. It sounded purely non-evil, possibly the most non-evil thing to ever come out of Malfoy's mouth. It started sounding more and more brilliant as Malfoy's hand squeezed tighter. Harry could fuck him. He would fuck him—God, he wanted to fuck him.

"Okay," he agreed in a throaty voice.

Malfoy shuddered and his hand stilled as he pulled back to look Harry in the eye for the briefest of seconds before attacking him, tearing at his clothing in a vicious frenzy until his shirt was lying several feet away and his jeans and pants were pooled around his ankles. He held tightly to Malfoy's shoulders for balance as he toed off his trainers and stepped from the clothing. His cheeks flushed as Malfoy's gaze raked over him hungrily, pausing for an embarrassingly long time on Harry's groin. He had been hard but was rapidly deflating as all the blood in his body rushed into his face under the intense scrutiny of the other boy's silver stare.

"I, er, what about you?" Harry stuttered, hoping for any sort of distraction to remove those eyes from his body. "Shouldn't you, you know, be less dressed?"

A beatific smile lit up Malfoy's face and Harry felt his breath catch. The blond really was beautiful. "Help me?" he suggested coyly, and Harry could only nod dumbly as he stepped forward to tug the shirt over the other boy's head with clumsy movements before fumbling with the fastenings of his trousers.

The clothing was quickly discarded and at the sight of a fully-nude Malfoy, Harry felt the blood begin to pool once more in his groin. The other teen's body was long and lean, thin, but with clearly defined muscles gleaming palely in the dim light. His body hair was either non-existent or invisible, except for the patch of golden curls surrounding his erect cock, jutting out toward Harry and giving him insane thoughts such as wondering what it would taste like or how it would feel in his hand.

Deciding to answer the latter query immediately, he reached down and grasped the pale appendage in a firm grip, noting that it was roughly the same size and shape as his own, albeit slightly longer and less thick. Malfoy made a soft breathy noise, snapping Harry back into focusing on the task at hand. Or the task _in_ hand, as the case seemed to be.

"So, erm, where should we do this?" Harry asked awkwardly, regretting his question when Malfoy stepped away from him. Bending low, he picked up his fallen wand and, smirking at Harry, hopped up onto the desk, sweeping aside the textbook, notes, and leftover ingredients onto the stone floor of the office.

Crooking one pale finger, he beckoned Harry closer, a request the brunet was only too eager to comply with. He stepped toward the blond and ran his hands up the other boy's thighs teasingly before encircling his arms around Malfoy's waist and pulling him in for a kiss.

Malfoy responded with a moan, wrapping his legs around Harry's hips and bringing their erections into contact, which was most definitely _not_ evil. In fact, it was Harry's new most favorite thing in the world.

"Fuck me, Harry," Malfoy whispered.

Okay, maybe it was Harry's _second_ new most favorite thing.

"I, yeah, all right," Harry said loudly, cringing at his own volume. Lowering his voice, he spoke again as he stroked the smooth skin of Malfoy's back. "What do I do?"

"Have you never fucked a boy before?" Malfoy murmured, his voice taking on an almost possessive tone as he tightened the grip of his legs around Harry's waist.

"No," he answered breathlessly.

"Have you ever fucked anyone before? Or been fucked by anyone?"

"No," Harry admitted, certain that this was where the evil entered the plan. Malfoy would surely mock him mercilessly for his inexperience, thusly proving correct all of Harry's theories about the blond's malicious nature. Then Harry could say _I told you so_ to Ron, largely editing out most of the story of course, and Ron would acknowledge Harry's superior evil-detecting instincts and Harry would feel vindicated. Right? At the moment, the thought left him with much less of a feeling of vindication and more of a hollow throb in his chest.

Sighing, he waited for the virginal taunting to begin.

"Me neither," Malfoy confessed, grabbing Harry's palm and pressing his wand to it.

For one wild moment, Harry believed he would be hexed for admitting to being a virgin, but the next second his hand was covered in a slick viscous liquid and Malfoy was speaking. He quickly explained the process to Harry, blushing and giggling several times throughout, and Harry found himself entranced by this new Malfoy—one who laughed freely and ducked his head shyly, whispered compliments and endearments into Harry's ear. With a pang, he knew that he would miss this Malfoy terribly when the potion's side effects wore off.

In growing wonderment he watched as Malfoy unlocked his legs from around Harry's waist and lay down on his back on the desk, bending his knees and planting his feet flat on the wooden surface.

"I'm ready," he sang, a delicate pink staining his cheeks.

"Er, right," Harry said firmly. Now that he knew the process and the steps involved, he felt more certain, but there was a tight nervousness in his throat as one hand drifted low to press a shaky finger against the furrowed skin of Malfoy's entrance. He circled it for a moment before slipping the digit inside and was immediately amazed by the tight heat. Was Malfoy certain that this would work? But the more he moved his finger, the easier it became until he had two, then three fingers pressed inside and Malfoy was rocking his hips and squirming.

Another lubrication spell was cast on Harry's palm and he slicked his cock quickly, desperate to be inside Malfoy. Gripping the base and lining the tip up, he took a deep breath and pressed forward slowly, pausing to stroke the silk of Malfoy's thighs every few seconds, until he was buried completely inside. _I'm having sex with Malfoy_ , he wondered in amazement. _I just lost my virginity to Draco Malfoy_. The thought was enough to make him pause for a long moment until Malfoy began to fidget beneath him.

"Move, Harry," he whined, snapping Harry out of his daze.

Shaking his head to clear it, he pulled out slightly before pushing back in, starting shallow and slow and building a gradual tempo, until finally his hips were snapping and Malfoy was moaning and thrashing beneath him. One pale hand reached up to wrap around his neglected cock, but Harry swatted it away and replaced it with his own, stroking him firmly in time to the thrusts.

It felt like barely any time had passed at all before it was suddenly over. Harry felt it when Malfoy came—his entire body tensed and his back arched up off the surface of the desk as he came in long gasping spurts. The sight of Malfoy, sweaty and mussed, head thrown back and moaning, triggered Harry's own release and he came with a cry.

Opening his eyes slowly, Harry blinked and stared down. Malfoy was laying perfectly still, a small smile playing around the edges of his mouth as he watched Harry silently. The brunet reached out to trace one cheekbone with his fingertips before bending low to capture Malfoy's mouth in a gentle kiss.

"Draco," he murmured affectionately, nearly falling over when Malfoy sat up without warning and flung himself into Harry's arms, ignoring the wince of discomfort that flashed across his face for a moment as he lowered his legs from their bent position on the desk.

"I knew there was a reason I was so mad for you," he said excitedly, clinging to Harry and ignoring the sweat and semen coated uncomfortably between them. "I knew you would be an absolutely wonderful shag."

"Oh really?" Harry asked in amusement. Had he really been wonderful? "Think about how I shag very often, do you?"

"Oh yes," Malfoy nodded seriously. "All the time."

All the time? Was that real, or was that the potion talking? Harry was no longer sure what was a side effect and what, if anything, was the truth. Which was the real Malfoy? The cold, distant boy who had once taken so much delight in tormenting Harry? Or this new blushing, flirtatious Malfoy who whispered sweet things and called Harry pretty?

Without a doubt, Harry knew which one he preferred. But was this a temporary personality change? Or had the potion brought out a hidden side of Malfoy?

And the most important question: how did Harry hang onto this version of the blond?

Unsure of how to answer any of the questions ricocheting around his dazed skull, he did the only thing he could think of and leaned forward to capture Malfoy's mouth in a kiss. The kiss was soft, slow, achingly sweet, and left Harry with a chill and a bitter taste in his throat at the thought of never experiencing this again. Would Malfoy ever speak to him again after the potion's effects wore off? Would he even be willing to look Harry in the eye the next morning?

Tightening his grip on the other boy's narrow waist, he decided that he would experience as much as he could while it lasted. He would have as much of Malfoy as the blond was willing to offer and could only hope the offer would extend past dawn.

"Don't forget this," Harry broke off the kiss to plead haltingly. "Tomorrow, I mean. Just…don't forget this moment. Don't forget _me_." As his sentence trailed off he flushed and looked away. Was he actually begging Malfoy to remember him? To _stay_ with him? And then what? Be his boyfriend? Hold his hand in the corridors? Walk to Hogsmeade together arm-in-arm and gaze at each other starry-eyed across a table at Madam Puddifoot's? What would he say to Ron and Hermione? What would they say to him?

But the next second the worry and questions were melting from his thoughts as Malfoy trailed pale fingers over his cheek lightly, murmuring, "I won't. I wouldn't. Not ever." His words sent cool tingles of relief and anticipation through Harry at the thought of this possibly lasting past morning, mixed with feelings of sadness at the certainty of its inability to last.

But Harry wanted it to last so badly. He could not remember ever wanting anything as badly as he wanted the boy in his arms.

Was Malfoy the only one this potion had affected? How long had Harry felt this way about the other boy? How long had Harry even been attracted to boys? But something about Malfoy felt right; it felt inevitable, as if this was what the animosity between them had been building toward all these years. Had mutual attraction really been the underlying cause of all the hatred and vicious anger between the two of them?

The more he thought about it, the more he could remember stolen moments where he would let his gaze slide appreciatively over Malfoy, but he had never recognized it at the time. Even as short a time as only that very afternoon he had been accusing Malfoy of being up to something. Had he really suspected him of Dark activity? Or had that been just a weak excuse to follow him around? Talk to him, maybe?

Harry's eyes narrowed as he began to rethink his entire Evil Dot Theory.

All theories were put on hold, however, as he was snapped out of his thoughts by a sudden chill. Malfoy had stepped away and was waving his wand, cleaning the coating of sticky semen and dry sweat that had cooled on their chests, gluing them together. His skin tingled where the charm passed over it and he smiled gratefully at the blond.

It wasn't until Malfoy inched closer that Harry realized they were both still naked. "Er, should we maybe, you know, get dressed or something?" he asked awkwardly.

What was the normal etiquette for this sort of schoolyard-rivals-turned-temporary-lovers type of situation? What would be the expected behavior the next day? Were they supposed to revert to the silence and safe distances they had both been keeping to? What if this truly did mean nothing?

Had that been Malfoy's evil plan all along? To seduce Harry and make him realize his already-existent-and-oh-so-deeply-repressed feelings for the blond, only to then reject him? Could Malfoy truly be _that_ evil?

At the sight of the other boy's open smile, so beautiful and genuine, Harry doubted it was all part of some hateful scheme to humiliate him, but how could he ever trust _Draco Malfoy_?

Malfoy stared at Harry for several moments before he burst out laughing. The sound of his laughter startled Harry somewhat, who had never heard the blond laugh in such a way. It was earnest and sincere, no trace of scorn or the derisive scrape it once held. His eyes were sparkling brightly, gleaming silver in the dark shadows of the potions office. A smile stretched his face in a way Harry had never before witnessed—had he simply never paid close enough attention? But no, Harry was sure of the detailed attention he had paid notice to in regards to Malfoy over the years.

Harry knew with absolute certainty what color Malfoy's eyes were, when his birthday was, who his favorite Quidditch team was, what his favorite and least favored classes were—he had had Malfoy's school schedule memorized since fourth year, for Merlin's sake. He knew which hand Malfoy wrote with and could picture the neat, slanted writing perfectly. He knew which shops Malfoy frequented in Hogsmeade—Honeydukes being his favorite, of course; Harry was well familiar with the teen's sweet tooth. He knew which sweets were his favorite—chocolate, of course, and even which chocolate specifically—expensive dark chocolates filled with a thick pink cream that Harry was pretty sure was strawberry.

But he was startled from his thoughts as he suddenly realized that Malfoy had stopped laughing and was now eyeing him shyly.

"We haven't finished our deal, Harry," he looked straight into Harry's eyes as he took another step closer and turned a delicate pink.

Deal? They had made a deal? 

With another start, Harry thought back to the words Malfoy had spoken earlier, so velvety and seductive— _How about you fuck me first? And then I'll fuck you._ How could he forget about agreeing to let Malfoy fuck him? The first five words had burnt a searing path through his eardrums, obliterating a trail from Harry's ears straight to his cock.

Had he really agreed to be fucked by the other boy? Was that something that he actually wanted? Malfoy had definitely seemed to enjoy it, though. And the thought of Malfoy stretched above him, gasping his name as he came inside Harry…It caused a delicious shiver to pass through him and he nodded hesitantly. He would at least try it—was he a Gryffindor or not, goddammit?

Closing the distance between them in one quick bound, Malfoy wrapped pale arms around Harry's neck as a soft mouth was pressed gratefully to his lips. Harry's arms wound around the other boy's slender waist and he could feel both Malfoy and himself responding to the contact. The feeling of holding a naked aroused Draco Malfoy in his arms left Harry's head spinning—either that or the kiss itself, which was numbing coherency and brain power into nothing but a pleasant blur of sensation. Malfoy's hands were everywhere, his tongue was sliding sensuously against Harry's own, the dungeon air was cool but Malfoy's skin was so hot and Harry felt warm. His nerves were on fire and he knew he needed more; he needed Malfoy. He pulled back to breathe for a moment.

"You can…" Harry hesitated, but managed to force the words out through his embarrassment, "you can fuck me now…Draco."

He never heard a response. Lips were once more pressed against his and the kisses turned harder, more insistent, and any chance of either of them speaking vanished along with most of Harry's brain power.

Before he was aware of it, he had been backed against the desk and Malfoy was pressing hot open-mouthed kisses against Harry's chest. They trailed lower and lower until the blond was on his knees, lips parted around Harry, who was panting heavily and staring down at the other boy in wonder.

Where had Malfoy been all his life?

Well, he knew exactly where he had been, of course. Smirking across the Great Hall or mocking him loudly outside the Potions rooms; selling false stories about him to the Daily Prophet, insulting his best friends, once even breaking Harry's nose.

But none of that seemed to matter at the moment. Because Harry also knew where _he_ had been—spying on him, fighting with him, getting his father thrown into Azkaban at the end of fifth year (not something Harry regretted).

And, with an aching twinge in his chest, he could see, even in the dim lighting, silvery scars slicing delicately across Malfoy's pale torso. Harry had done that; he had put those there, nearly _killed_ him. And he had never apologized. And Malfoy had still refused to identify him at the Manor. And he had never said thank you.

He stroked Malfoy's hair tenderly, raking his scalp with his fingernails and attempting to convey everything he felt for the teen in that moment. The intense desire that had swept through him earlier returned full force and he gently tugged Malfoy away and up to his feet. Apologetic kisses were pressed softly along the scars adorning Malfoy's chest as his breath hitched above Harry.

Allowing his body to be maneuvered, he found himself in the same position Malfoy had been in earlier—back flat against the cold wood of the desk with his feet planted firmly on the surface. Malfoy had conjured lube and was preparing Harry, there was no other word for it, _lovingly_. As if Harry was precious and fragile and the sole focus of Draco's attention was to see him unbroken.

Draco? When had he switched from Malfoy to Draco? Probably around the time he found that spot inside Harry's body that made him gasp and see fire. His body was burning in the best way possible, and he writhed and begged the blond for more, feeling near-hysterical laughter bubble up at the expression on Draco's face as he finally pushed forward into Harry. He looked astonished, as though he couldn't believe where he was or what he was doing.

Biting down the laughter, Harry forced his body to relax, but the manic urge to giggle threatened to well up once again as he wondered if maybe there was something to his Evil Dot Theory after all, because surely Malfoy was trying to kill him.

The astonishment still etched onto Draco's face mirrored Harry's insides perfectly—was this really happening? Had he maybe fallen asleep in Gryffindor Tower at the table he and Ron had been doing their homework at and was actually having an embarrassingly public wet dream?

Harry reached out and stroked Malfoy's left hip—no, the blond seemed real enough. The touch seemed to shake the other boy of some of his astonishment and he began to rock forward slowly, a determined glint in his eyes.

And Harry began to fall apart.

Fingers wrapped around the edge of the table as he groaned loudly, glad that the rest of the castle was asleep. He had never experienced anything like this; in fact, he had no idea how to put the feeling into words. Malfoy above him, inside him, stroking him, touching him everywhere, making him feel like _this_ —it was the most amazing, surreal experience of his life.

Long fingers suddenly wrapped around his cock and he cried out Draco's name in surprise. At the sound, the boy above him began to rock even faster as he stroked Harry at a furious tempo. Malfoy's movements sped up and faltered as he leaned down to kiss Harry, and at the contact they both came, gasping into each other's mouths.

For several moments neither of them moved, instead panting heavily against each other's lips as they felt their heartbeats gradually begin to slow. Harry's bones felt warm and heavy in his body; he felt relaxed and content in a way he was certain he had never felt before. Sleepy grey eyes blinked down at him and he fought back a grin.

"Come on, then, let's get you to bed," Harry said lightly, forcing his elbows to prop his body up and urging Malfoy into a standing position. Cleaning charms were quickly cast and clothes put on, despite Malfoy's numerous attempts at tugging open any fastenings Harry managed to close.

"Don't want to go, Harry," Draco whined. "Let's just stay here. The potion could still be affecting me! What if something happens?"

The words made Harry pause and bite his lip. What if something did happen? Harry still wasn't sure what the side effects were or how much longer they would be affecting the blond. The only real change that Harry could spot was that under the potion's influence, Malfoy seemed much more adorable and charming as opposed to sneering and standoffish.

Both the pause and the silence lengthened. If Harry was being honest with himself, he was worried about the upcoming morning and was not yet ready to say goodnight. How much would Malfoy remember? How much would he regret? Would he still be Draco? Or would he revert back to Malfoy? How could Harry hold onto him?

As a wide yawn stretched Malfoy's features, Harry softened. "Let's get you to bed," he repeated. "We still have class in the morning." A flash of disgust crossed Malfoy's face and Harry laughed. He straightened up the office with a careless wave of his wand, hardly paying attention as he wrapped an arm around Malfoy's shoulders and led him from the dark room. He walked him to the Slytherin Common Room entrance and paused to give him a lingering goodnight kiss.

"Don't forget this," Harry reminded him, holding Draco's face securely between two palms. "Don't regret this in the morning."

"Of course I won't, Harry" Malfoy promised with a smirk, kissing him quickly and stepping through the entrance. The dark stone slid smoothly shut on grey eyes and a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So at this moment I'm thinking two more chapters, but such things have yet to be decided. I promise I shan't keep the internet waiting.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry overslept.

His eyes snapped open and he tumbled out of bed, knowing instantly that he was late. Stumbling into the shower, he bruised his knee on the porcelain and banged his head as he fumbled for the soap. He tripped and bruised his other knee attempting to struggle into jeans and was cursing profusely by the time he finally clambered out of the portrait hole. His nerves felt frayed and his stomach was jumping unpleasantly.

Would Draco be at breakfast? Would he look at Harry with the same reverent expression he had worn the previous night? Or would he ignore him in the same cold, indifferent manner he had adopted towards Harry all term?

The instant Harry pushed open the doors to the Great Hall, his eyes went automatically to the Slytherin table, scanning it in growing disappointment. Malfoy wasn't there. Where was he? Had he come down early, before most of the castle? Had he been trying to avoid Harry? Or maybe Malfoy had slept in as well. Maybe between the potion and last night's activities he had been far too exhausted to wake at his normal early hour; maybe he was still in his dorm at that moment.

Harry ripped open his bag, tearing violently through it until he found the Map and began scanning it anxiously for the dot that up until so recently Harry had been convinced was evil. Would it still be evil? Had last night's honesty cured Malfoy of any lingering traces of corruption?

As he eyed Malfoy's dot in thought, the corners of Harry's lips tugged up into a fond smile. The dot was running around the Slytherin dorms frantically from one end of the room to the other, as though in a giant hurry and yet constantly having to dart back for something he had forgotten.

Folding the Map and shoving it back into his bag, Harry whirled around and jogged quickly down the familiar steps to the Slytherin dungeon corridor. Ducking into a narrow alcove, he willed his heart to slow as he waited for Malfoy, hidden in the shadows of the sunless dungeons. Quick footsteps rang sharply along the corridor and Harry tensed, waiting.

As a pale figure darted past, his hand sprang out to snatch at the front of Malfoy's robes and drag him into the tiny space. Their chests were nearly touching and Malfoy stared at him in utter shock and, for the briefest of seconds, a sudden flash of panic. Both emotions quickly melted away, however, to be replaced by a cool disregard.

"Potter?" he asked with disdain, sounding as though Harry had accidentally bumped his shoulder as opposed to ambushing him and dragging him bodily into a hidden alcove.

"I…" Harry started, suddenly lost for words. He wasn't sure what to say, how to handle this Malfoy—because this was quite clearly Malfoy. Draco had once again vanished and Harry felt a stinging bereavement. Had last night truly been just the potion?

"I…are you…" Harry cleared his throat nervously and tried again. "Are you feeling okay?"

Malfoy's cheeks colored slightly, but his voice was steady when he answered. "I am quite well, thank you. Other than a growing hunger at being denied breakfast." The words were accompanied by a pointed stare.

"Oh, er, all right," Harry said awkwardly, shuffling backward to allow Malfoy room to leave. Had last night been nothing but a mistake? Had Draco really forgotten their time together so easily? Or worse, repressed it? Had he woken up with the memories of being with Harry turning his stomach in disgust? Harry's eyes prickled uncomfortably—they felt far too hot and he blinked furiously for several moments. Malfoy kept his gaze on the floor as he stepped back into the corridor.

Seeing him turn his back on Harry, about to just walk away without so much as a single word, tore something inside the brunet.

"I just…" he called desperately. The blond paused mid-stride, shoulders a stiff line as he waited. "I just thought…I dunno…" What _had_ Harry thought? What had he actually been expecting? That one night with him would change Malfoy forever? This was _Draco Malfoy_. The boy who had tormented him for years, ridiculed him mercilessly, publically humiliated him more times than he could count, and done it all with a fucking _smile_.

But he was also the boy who had called Harry pretty and whispered that he would never forget him. The boy who had lied to his family and his mad aunt to keep him from Voldemort's clutches. He was the boy who had made Harry feel like no one else ever had and Harry wanted that back. He wanted Draco.

"I just thought, after last night…" The words froze on his lips as Malfoy finally turned, pinning Harry into place with an icy stare, cold fury etched into the furrow of his eyebrows and the thinning of his lips.

"Nothing happened last night, Potter," he said in a low voice, sending a shiver down Harry's spine. Nothing happened? _Nothing_ happened? "You would do well to remember that." And with that he turned and swept away, leaving Harry with a burning in his throat and a hot tingling in his eyes.

Harry didn't make it to a single class that day.

 

As he sank slowly onto the corridor of the stone alcove in the dungeons, Harry knew there was no way he would be able to sit through classes normally, especially the classes he shared with Malfoy. The thought of the blond twisted his insides painfully. Harry had never felt more confused or heartbroken in his life.

 _Turns out his dot really is evil_ , he decided morosely as he picked himself up off the floor and headed outside. He spent the day wandering the forest in a morbid daze, his mind replaying the last twelve hours in a constant depressing reel—replaying every word, every touch, every flash of emotion that Harry had witnessed in Malfoy.

At least Harry had gotten his answer about the potion's side effects. Turned out the whole thing had been a mistake and a lie—it had been entirely the potion after all. Malfoy had never wanted him. He had only thought he did long enough for Harry to realize the depths of his own feelings before leaving him unloved and alone yet again. It had become a pattern in his life long before Malfoy.

In fact, Harry was beginning to think that the only reason people entered his life was so they could leave it. Well, if Malfoy didn't want him, then fine. His name would be added to the growing list.

Sighing, Harry cracked his neck and headed back to the school, noting that the sky was now streaked with orange and pink as dusk settled over the castle. As he entered the large building, he carefully avoided looking toward the entrance to the dungeons, gaze remaining fixed firmly ahead as he climbed the stairs with determination. He would find his friends, they would cheer him up, and he could forget all about Malfoy. If the Slytherin could repress everything that had happened between them that easily, then so could Harry.

For a brief moment, he considered checking the Map for Ron and Hermione's dots, but rejected it almost immediately out of the certainty that he would be unable to stop himself from also scanning for Malfoy's dot. The dot that Harry was still reminding himself was _evil_. His theory had been correct after all. _Ten points to Gryffindor,_ he thought wryly. At least he knew his instincts were trustworthy.

Deciding on the library first, his instincts were rewarded once again with the sight of his friends sitting at Hermione's usual table, surrounded by her usual frightening amount of books spread open across the wooden surface. Hurrying along the aisles, he flung his bag onto the floor and dropped heavily into the seat across from Ron. Both Ron and Hermione jumped at his sudden appearance.

"Oi! Mate, are you all right?" Ron asked instantly, shoving his drying parchment aside to peer closely at Harry's face.

"Where have you been all day, Harry?" Hermione inquired, concern lacing her question.

"I just…" Harry shrugged. "I just…needed a break." The sentence hung awkwardly in the air between them. Would he tell them about what happened? How could he, after everything he had said to Ron just last night? But maybe he _needed_ to tell them, maybe he needed to say it out loud and hope it made sense. Maybe Ron would surprise him by being comforting and maybe Hermione could give him advice.

He opened his mouth to confess everything, every detail about the previous night, every aspect of both his Evil Dot Theory and new confusing feelings regarding Malfoy, but at the last second changed his mind.

"What's Retention Potion?" he asked instead, directing his question to Hermione. Both she and Ron exchanged a look, appearing confused by the sudden change of topic.

"It's a potion to aid in remembrance," Hermione responded automatically. "You take it before reading or studying something and it helps you to retain the information much better."

"It's difficult to brew, though, yeah?" Harry continued, hoping for a casual tone. "And there are side effects if you mess up, right?" He wanted to—no, he _had_ to know what exactly it was that the potion had done to Malfoy.

"Well, yes," Hermione answered, nonplussed. "It's quite advanced, and of course there will be consequences to brewing or handling it incorrectly."

"What, er, would those consequences be, exactly?" His voice was calm, but his heart was racing. How much would Hermione suspect or be able to deduce from his questions? She was far too clever and knew him too well for Harry to feel safe getting away with anything.

"I'm not exactly sure," she confessed, frowning. "I've never made it before." Her frown deepened in displeasure at the admission. "I can find out, though, if it's important."

Harry nodded, carefully averting his eyes as he studied the table in front of him. All he needed was answers, and then he would be able to put Malfoy forever from his mind. The school year would be over in just a few short months and he would never have to see the blond or force his unwanted presence on Malfoy ever again.

But until then, no one could blame him for simply wanting to satisfy his curiosity. Hermione was always lecturing him about expanding his interests and taking a more active role in learning—the advice had finally sunk in, that was all. He wanted an answer purely for the sake of knowledge, that was it.

"All right, Harry," Hermione said, and he could tell by her tone of voice that she would let it pass for now but would demand answers upon offering up whatever information she found.

"Thank you," he said quietly, pulling several books toward him at random and attempting to start his homework.

Two hours later and he was bored out of his bloody mind. Having given up attempting to focus long ago after finding it impossible to concentrate on school work, he instead passed the time by doodling idly on a tattered corner of a spare piece of parchment. His glasses had been removed and his body was slumped over the table with one cheek resting heavily against the cool wood of the tabletop.

He drew a cauldron bubbling and overflowing, tapping the parchment with his wand and performing a tricky spell to make the ink move, charming the cauldron to explode in stages before replaying itself—first it was calm, then the bubbles appeared, then it began overflowing furiously, then there was a massive explosion.

The parchment was quickly tucked away the moment he noticed Hermione's gaze following the moving pictures from upside down—it was far too telling and Harry did not miss the way her eyes narrowed.

Bidding a quick goodnight, he stuffed the rest of his belongings into his bag and fled the claustrophobic presence of the stuffy library, breathing easier upon escaping the tall bookshelves looming menacingly over him at every turn and the swooping proximity of Madam Pince, ready to pounce upon any soul fool enough to even glance at her precious books.

His fingers itched as he walked along the echoing corridor, longing to pull the Map from his bag and check for Malfoy. Maybe he was out committing more acts of evil tonight, right now even. Maybe it was something that Harry should check on…

But he sighed and shook his head, squaring his shoulders as firmly as he was able. If he began stalking Malfoy again, especially after what had happened between them the previous night, it would be far too pathetic a move to ever be able to call himself a Gryffindor again. After all, Harry still had his pride, damn it. Just because Malfoy had been able to affect him in a way that nobody else ever had didn't mean that Harry would beg and plead the way Malfoy clearly wanted him to; he would obviously get a kick out of watching Harry grovel for his affections. And Harry had just allowed it. He had already handed Malfoy power by allowing him to scare the brunet away from his classes. Every single one of them.

Wasn't he Harry Potter? Didn't he regularly get told how brave and courageous he was? Draco Malfoy had never scared him in the past—he certainly wasn't going to start fearing the blond now.

With that decided and a fierce resolve now firmly planted, he marched the rest of the way to the Tower and fell asleep with a resolute expression fixed to his face.

 

The next morning Harry woke early, dressing quickly and rushing Ron and Hermione down to breakfast. He was determined to get to the Great Hall first so he could immediately begin showing Malfoy how unaffected Harry was by his rejection—something that would be much easier once other people actually started showing up to eat, but the Hall soon began to gradually fill up around him. Neville and Ginny came to sit with them and Harry was determined to laugh and joke as if nothing had happened and he was still the exact same Harry he had been two days ago.

But he wasn't.

The moment Malfoy walked into the Great Hall, Harry felt it and had to instantly fight the urge to glance in the Slytherin's direction. The grin Harry had planted so defiantly on his face had melted into more of a grimace and he sipped at his tea with his eyes closed for an excuse to look away from everything.

How did this happen? How had he fallen for Malfoy, of all people, and how did he make the feelings go away?

Hasty goodbyes were being said around him and Harry was snapped out of his woeful daze just as Ginny stood.

"I'll walk with you," he volunteered, desperate to escape both the Great Hall and the knowledge that if he was only to look up, just for a second, he could see Malfoy.

Ginny nodded cheerfully and they set off toward the exit together, Harry half-listening to Ginny's story about Quidditch or classes or centaurs for all he knew. He shook her presence as quickly as he could, deciding to head down to the Quidditch pitch before class.

It wasn't until he got to the broomshed, however, that he remembered the new time locks that had been placed on the gear at the start of the term. The shed refused to unlock until first break, something he had never had cause to test until now, seeing as how he was late most mornings.

Kicking the door in frustration and achieving nothing but a painful throbbing in his toes, he turned around, only to stop short at the sight of Draco Malfoy observing him coolly from several yards away. He was standing casually and appeared relaxed, but there was something slightly too careless about the way he held himself, almost as if it was a posture he had practiced.

Harry said nothing, just watched him silently, waiting for the other boy to speak first.

"Potter," Malfoy said finally, his voice laced with the same grey tone of indifference it had held the previous day.

Harry remained silent, cocking one eyebrow in inquiry. He wasn't sure he trusted himself to speak. Not after the promise he had made himself not even twelve hours ago that Malfoy would not know how deeply affected Harry was just by the other teen's proximity, and that he would not beg or plead to the Slytherin.

The two boys gazed at each other in mute contemplation for long minutes, until Malfoy finally relented and opened his mouth.

"Look, Potter, I'm here to…" For the first time, Malfoy both sounded and appeared uncertain. "You aren't going to…tell anyone…are you?" His words were hesitant and there was a pink flush creeping up his cheeks. His eyes were hooded but Harry thought he saw something close to panic underneath as if this was really something Malfoy had been desperately worried about. And now that Harry was looking closely, the other boy did look exhausted. The grey eyes gazing nervously into Harry's own were framed by dark circles.

At the sight, just for a moment, Harry softened. Maybe he hadn't been rejected the previous day out of disgust, but maybe out of fear instead. Maybe Malfoy really was human—maybe he wasn't evil, he was just scared. And maybe he was there to confess his real feelings for Harry and maybe he would even kiss him. _And then maybe we could get married beneath the clock tower,_ Harry thought wryly as Malfoy folded his arms with a sneer. The anger and hurt over the Slytherin's rejection of Harry just twenty-four hours ago reared up within him with frightening force.

"What would I tell anyone?" Harry responded coldly. "After all, nothing happened, right? Somebody warned me to remember that."

The words seemed to cause Malfoy to nearly cringe, but the next second he was stiff and glaring and Harry decided he had imagined the uncharacteristic reaction.

"Good," Malfoy replied in the same icy tones. "Then next time I am in the middle of brewing an extremely difficult and temperamental potion, kindly do me the favor of _thinking_ before barging in and endangering my well-being."

"Fuck you, Malfoy," Harry spat, seething. Maybe he shouldn't have followed the blond or attempted to spy on him. But he hadn't asked for Malfoy to seduce him like that, hadn't asked for the feelings and desire he could still feel thrumming through his veins at the sight of the slender teen. And he definitely hadn't asked to be rejected only hours after realizing it all.

Fists clenched, he spun around, intent on stalking back to the castle, anything to get away from the infuriating boy he wanted so desperately to kiss.

But he had only taken two steps when he paused and twisted back to face Malfoy, who hadn't moved a centimeter. "Sorry you fucking regret what happened so much _._ " _Sorry you regret it was_ me _so much._ "I'll be sure to leave you alone in the future." And with that Harry whirled around and walked back to the castle at a brisk pace.

 

The rest of the morning was spent fuming silently, pretending to listen to professor's lectures whilst in reality, he passed the time avoiding Hermione's eye and pretending that Malfoy didn't exist and that Harry had no idea where the Slytherin's regular seat was located in every class they shared together.

By the time classes were over, Harry felt exhausted. He had floated through the day unaware of his surroundings, yet somehow he felt worn out and drained. All he wanted was to head outside, into the warm sunlight away from everybody else, maybe transfigure a quill into something comfortable to lie down on and try to forget any other members of humanity existed. Especially a certain tall blond, one with flashing grey eyes and silvery blond hair and lovely pink lips and long pale limbs and oh sweet Merlin how was Harry ever going to be able to forget about Malfoy?

But his brooding was interrupted just as he reached the yellowed grass of the early spring grounds—still not quite as warm outside as he would have liked—by the arrival of red hair in the form of Ginny Weasley, nearly hidden behind two large crates and a broomstick all balanced precariously in her arms.

Hurrying forward, Harry took the top crate and the broomstick from her grasp. She chuckled and thanked him as they fell into step together.

"So what's in the boxes, Gin?" he wondered aloud. Shaking her head, she laughed again.

"Erm, it's for Hagrid, actually," she told him. "McGonagall gave me detention and has been having me collect a bunch of random shit for him for his classes, or something, I'm not sure. I'm taking it to his cabin right now."

"Why did she give you detention?" he asked curiously.

"Well, it's possible I didn't turn in my last homework assignment," she admitted, still grinning. "But only as a direct result of my fierce dedication to my role as Quidditch Captain—something clearly in McGonagall's better interests, mind you. I told her for the sake of her House pride as a Gryffindor and former Head of she should let it slide, but she did not find the suggestion as inspiring as I would have liked."

Harry laughed and shifted the crate in his arms. "I can't imagine she would," he agreed, lips twitching at the thought of McGonagall's reaction to Ginny's suggestion.

"Hence the detention," she smirked in agreement. "I just have to drop this shit off and I'm free once more."

"Is that why you brought your broomstick with you?" Harry asked. "So you could head straight to the pitch afterward?"

Ginny nodded and sniggered. "The walk from Hagrid's hut is too damn far."

The more they walked, the more Harry silently agreed with her that it really was too damn far. Finally, they reached the cabin and he lowered the crate to the grass gratefully as Ginny pounded on the door.

"Hagrid!" she called. "Oi! Open up!"

The door remained shut and Harry shrugged. "He must be out in the forest or planning his next lesson or something."

Hopping down the wooden steps, Ginny nodded. "Yeah, point is I delivered them. I even have Harry Potter as a witness so there's no way McGonagall could doubt my word or my honor."

Taking her broom back from Harry and swinging a thin leg over the handle, she glanced back at him with one eyebrow raised. "Want a ride to at least the pitch?"

Nodding gratefully Harry clambered on, fitting himself comfortably along behind her, their bodies close but not actually touching, as he gripped an empty part of the handle near her own tight grasp. They flew low over the ground toward the pitch and Ginny half-turned her head to shout back to him, "You want to stay and help out at practice?"

Considering it for a moment, Harry yelled back an affirmative. He missed coaching and he missed Quidditch. He missed flying and dodging bludgers. As an eighth year, he had felt weird about rejoining the House team. It had been an unspoken agreement between the returning students and not even Ron had put up a fuss about it. But it didn't mean that Harry couldn't ever play again.

The wind was cool and light and felt pleasant against the warmth of his jumper. He and Ginny flew well together, after years of summer holidays spent practicing together in the paddock at the Burrow. They ran the team through several of the old drills and Harry pulled the new Seeker, a fourth-year girl named Hollins, aside to work with her one-on-one.

Hollins was dark-skinned and slim, with long ebony hair that she kept pulled tightly back at all times, allowing for no distractions as she scanned the skies for the Snitch. Harry admired her intense focus and inability to be shaken—both he and Ginny had approved of her immediately at tryouts.

They ran the team through maneuvers and exercises until the sun was a sinking ball burning orange along the edge of the horizon and the team was beginning to complain about missing dinner. After the grumbling players had finally been dismissed, Harry remained to help Ginny wrestle the bludgers back into the crates, grinning widely. That had been much better for him than moping around on his own. In fact, he was impressed with the amount of time that had passed since he had last thought of Malfoy or wondered where the Slytherin's Evil Dot would be located on the Map.

Harry stayed behind to help haul the Quidditch gear back into the sheds with Ginny before they headed back up to the castle together. They entered the Great Hall windblown and unkempt but in good spirits, laughing and trading jokes. Ginny could always make him laugh. They sat with Ron and Hermione and were quickly joined by Neville, taking the seat on Ron's right, as well as a faraway-looking Luna, who drifted over from the Ravenclaw table to sit next to Neville.

All throughout dinner Harry joked and smiled and was reminded of why he loved his friends so much, vowing to never again become involved with any more Evil sodding Dots—only Dots he could trust. Dots without soft hair and perfect skin and the ability to make Harry see stars. Those Dots were clearly trouble and Harry refused to even think about them. Mostly. At least more than was absolutely necessary.

He left the Hall grinning and relaxed for the first time since the _incident_ , pace slow and unhurried as he turned down a narrow side corridor. As he walked past a hidden alcove tucked into a dark corner, a pale hand shot out to tug him sharply into the confined space and up against the stone wall.

Drawing upon the razor-sharp reflexes honed during the war, Harry's wand was in his hand and pressed against a slender throat before he was even aware of his actions. Blinking in shock, he lowered his wand quickly at the sight of startled grey eyes. "Fucking hell, Malfoy," Harry swore in a shaky voice. "I could have hurt you."

Malfoy said nothing, only took a step further back, out of the firm grasp Harry had on his starched collar without realizing it. Dropping his hand hastily, Harry folded his arms across his chest, feeling better with some sort of defense between their bodies. The silence stretched and he tensed with every passing minute until he could no longer bear the quiet.

"Well?" Harry raised an eyebrow. Was Malfoy going to get to the point or was he just going to stare all night? Harry was finally in a good mood and was not about to allow Malfoy or his mind games to mess with it again.

Heavy silence continued to blare through the corridor, a silence so loud that Harry was convinced it was nearly its own presence.

"Right. Well, then," Harry shifted his weight to step forward and Malfoy's palms flew up to halt him.

"Did you mean it?" he blurted, staring unblinkingly at Harry. The question made the brunet pause as he thought about its meaning.

"Mean what?" he asked in confusion.

"What you said earlier…" Malfoy fidgeted for a moment before glancing at himself and straightening. "Your apology at my regret over the situation."

It took Harry a moment to understand what he was talking about and recall his exact words. _Sorry you fucking regret what happened so much_. Words he had spoken in anger, but Harry had meant every single one of them. Not that he was about to confess that to Malfoy. As he had proved to Harry for the final time, his Dot was well and truly Evil.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" he asked wearily. If it was to play more mind games, then he really was not in the mood and would definitely not be sticking around to become ensnared in them. If it was to remind Harry, yet again, to leave the blond the fuck alone, then it was a warning completely unnecessary—he had already got the message loud and clear. Malfoy was repulsed by him and so Harry would stay out of his life—although Malfoy seemed determined to make that difficult, as he did every decision the brunet made.

"Did you mean it?" Malfoy repeated, silver eyes large and close and framed by a face so beautiful that Harry could scarcely believe it to be real. Was Malfoy truly this ethereal or was Harry simply biased by his (admittedly foolish) feelings toward the teen?

"Are you just here to humiliate me or something?" Harry asked loudly, attempting to drown out the little voice in his head screaming for Harry to confess to everything, every last pathetic, sappy declaration of affection. Silencing the voice with an internal shake of his head, he looked Malfoy in the eye.

"Did you mean it?" Malfoy asked again, frustration leaking into his expression and coloring his tone.

"Why do you even care?" Harry demanded. After everything that Malfoy had said to him, he was not about to embarrass himself further by admitting to anything as vulnerable as _feelings_.

Huffing, he attempted to storm from the corridor, only to be blocked by a single thin arm flung out to press one pale palm flat against the stone wall, halting all of Harry's progress at escape.

"Just…" Malfoy murmured, sounding uncertain. "Tell me. Did you mean it? Were you sorry? Was that what you were upset about?"

Taking a step back, Harry ran a hand through his hair in annoyance. "Fine," he relented. "Fine, you want confessions? Yes. All right? Yes, I fucking meant it. I meant what I said earlier and I meant what I said that night when I told you not to forget me. I realized that I had feelings for you and I was afraid that it was the side effects of the potion that made you want me. Clearly, I was right." By the end of his speech, his voice was icy and bitter, but there was a slight undercurrent of panic lacing his tone as he finished speaking. Why had he admitted to all that? Malfoy would be sure to sneer and humiliate him, possibly yell it to the entire student body or sell it to the Daily Prophet.

Gritting his teeth, he continued speaking, "And I really don't care to hear any mocking or any more fucking lies from you, Malfoy. Go fuck with someone else." And with that he shoved his way past the blond and swept from the corridor, all traces of his earlier good mood vanished as he stormed up to the dorm.

Throwing himself into the armchair always left open for him—another unspoken agreement of the younger Gryffindors—Harry attempted to read, study, do homework, anything to distract him from the many persistent thoughts regarding infuriating blonds and the astounding depths of their viciousness.

But the schoolwork was tedious and Harry found his thoughts straying back to the Slytherin far more often than he would have liked—thoughts involving pale limbs and sharp cheekbones, long fingers and a lean torso.

 

The next thing he knew, blue eyes and freckles were peering closely down at him, a finger poking him sharply awake into the dull light of a grey morning. Ron shook his head at Harry's confusion as he blinked sleepy green eyes and glanced around. Why had he fallen asleep in the Common Room?

As he stretched, he spied an open textbook that had fallen onto its pages on the ground at his feet. Ah, he must have been out here dutifully doing homework and dedicating himself to his studies as the devoted student he was. It seemed like something he might do. Maybe. Hermione encouraged it in him, at least. And one day he would seriously consider following that advice.

But in the meantime he would shower, hurrying through his morning routine and arriving at the Common Room just as Ron started grumbling about being starved and needing sustenance. They hurried to the Great Hall and Harry sipped at his tea with indifference, already resigned to an unenthusiastic day.

The hours crawled by, every tick of the clock jarring Harry's frayed senses. Was this torture? Was he trapped in some sort of curse? Had Voldemort really survived and won the battle after all, cursing him to some remote corner of hell in which he was currently being tormented to death through excruciating tedium?

Pinching his arm painfully, he shook his head and dismissed the theory, even though he wasn't quite sure what pinched arms and hell dimensions had to do with each other.

By the time classes were finished, Harry was nearly out of his mind with constrained boredom. His limbs and digits felt jumpy and far too anxious for anything involving sitting still and listening closely. He rushed outside the instant he was free, wanting to feel the warmth of the early spring sun, wanting to walk, jog, run, _anything_ that involved moving. His body felt twitchy, jerky as if he had been caged in a tiny enclosure for too long and was just now finally released.

Allowing his feet to carry him forward, he headed for the pitch, spotting a figure already diving and rolling midair; a figure with flaming red hair. Harry grinned to himself as he reached the stands and Ginny waved down to him. No wonder she was getting detention from the Headmistress if this was how often she was out practicing. He knew full well about her dreams to go professional and that, given the choice between Quidditch and schoolwork, it was forever going to be no contest.

Jogging to the broomshed, he yanked open the door and grabbed the first school broom he could find, desperate to be up in the air. When he was flying, he didn't have to think. All he had to do was _feel—_ feel the wind rush through his hair, ruffle his clothes; feel the tingle in his gut and drop in his stomach every time he dove; feel the competitive edge that accompanied scanning for the Snitch, the yearning to catch it first, be the best, trumping every other sensation. He trusted his instincts and relied on himself and his teammates—it was a feeling he could not compare to any other.

But although he loved Quidditch, he would never be as dedicated to it as Ginny or as maniacal about it as Oliver Wood. Many people expected him to play professionally, but he wasn't sure that it was a path he actually wanted to go down. Was more fame really something he desired? How would he ever be sure they were choosing him for his talent and not his name? No, professional Quidditch held much less appeal now than it had when he was younger.

Even with that awareness, he was determined to have as good a time flying as he had the day before. It was just him and Ginny and they were able to practice the riskier moves, getting bolder and more reckless until finally Ginny nearly fell from her broom and Harry had to dart forward in order to steady her. They decided to go in after that, Ginny rubbing the bruised spot on her upper arm that Harry had seized tightly to prevent her from falling.

Placing the borrowed broom back into the shed, he waved Ginny off and glanced around before ambling back toward the castle. Dusk was falling, a deep heavy blue beginning to touch the horizon as the lambent orange of the sunset sank slowly out of sight. It was still and peaceful and lovely and he wanted to enjoy the silence.

As he wandered along the well-worn path leading back to the steps of the castle, he became aware that he was being followed. Slipping his wand from his sleeve into his palm, he gripped it firmly and slowed his pace. Approaching footsteps had him whirling around to come face-to-face—well, several yards apart, actually—with Malfoy.

Harry stared at him for a moment, willing his heartbeat to slow, which had only picked up at the sight of the blond instead of relaxing at the certainty there was no danger.

"What is it, Malfoy?" Harry asked tightly. Not again. He had worked so hard to get into a good mood, Malfoy could not come along again and just ruin it, just send him back so easily to that place in his mind that Harry tried so hard to avoid; the obsessive Malfoy corner—the Evil Dot corner.

At the sharp tone in Harry's voice, Malfoy's lips thinned and his grey eyes narrowed. "I thought you said you fucking meant it," he spat, folding his arms defensively as though expecting Harry to attack.

"Meant what? My question?" Harry asked, bewildered. What was Malfoy on about this time?

"No," Malfoy said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. The _fucking idiot_ was heard by Harry quite loudly. "What you said last night…about not wanting me to forget you." He blushed and averted his gaze, but his stance, if anything, grew even more tense.

Surprised, Harry could only stare. Was Malfoy really asking that again?

"I already answered that, Malfoy," Harry responded carefully. Was the blond trying to get him to admit to it _again_? Were there reporters in the trees? Slytherins in the bushes? Were hidden people listening right now to their every exchange? But Malfoy started speaking and Harry stopped scanning the landscape for spies.

"Then why are you spending every minute of your free time in the company of that horrid ginger monstrosity?" Malfoy demanded, taking a step forward and flexing one hand as if tightening his grip on a wand not currently being held.

"Um, because she's my friend?" Harry answered in confusion. Why did Malfoy care who he spent his time with? He had made it clear—perfectly, unmistakably, undeniably crystal clear about his feelings toward Harry. If he didn't want Harry, then fine. But cornering him and interrogating him about personal things and _accusing_ him of things that weren't even true just wasn't _fair_. Throwing himself at Harry and making Harry realize his feelings, then rejecting him just hours after making him feel so incredible, invincible, surreal, just wasn't _fair_.

"But I thought…" Draco hesitated, the same confusion Harry felt in his gut seeping through the Slytherin's words.

"What, Malfoy?" Harry felt tired. He was tired of feeling so mercurial, working so hard to put Malfoy from his mind, only to be forcibly confronted with the blond _again._ He was tired of being asked his feelings on a subject that made his insides ache, he was tired of being around Malfoy and not being allowed to kiss him because Harry was unwanted, unloved, disgusting, a freak, just as he had been told since childhood. Why had he ever fooled himself into believing that somebody would one day see him any differently?

Malfoy was clever and beautiful, witty, funny, elegant, refined. What would he ever see in Harry? Harry had literally been raised in a cupboard—he was hardly what anyone would call cultured. Malfoy had grown up in the very midst of high society, learning manners and manipulations at the robes of his father—he had been raised as Lucius Malfoy's son, _heir_ to a fucking _estate_. Harry had spent most of his childhood before Hogwarts blinking against the darkness of a dusty cupboard in Muggle Surrey, naming and befriending spiders in attempts to ignore the gnawing hunger and mind-numbing boredom.

Someone such as _Draco Malfoy_ would never fall for anybody as common and uninteresting as _Harry Potter_. Even their names suggested the difference in status—Draco was named after stars. Or maybe the stars had named themselves after him, either wouldn't surprise Harry.

 _Harry._ Such a common name. Aunt Petunia used to comment frequently about the vulgarity of such an ordinary name. Every time the subject had been broached she took immense delight in arriving at the conclusion that the name simply reflects the wearer and Harry was born to be plain, trivial, and overlooked—a mundane name for a mundane child. Nothing had changed; he had never been special.

The sound of Malfoy speaking shook Harry from his desolate thoughts. He had been beginning to think they were going to remain that way, silently assessing each other, for the rest of the night.

"I thought…" Malfoy started again. "I thought what you said was true." His silver gaze flicked down to stare at the grass, now a dark sea spread across the still grounds covered in a violet curtain of deepening twilight. "I thought maybe you wanted to be with me. I thought you didn't want me to forget."

"Well, yeah," Harry agreed blankly. Where was he going with this? "But that was before you made it more than clear that you _wanted_ to forget."

"Only because I thought you wanted us both to," Malfoy muttered, wrapping his arms around himself even more tightly and glaring at the grass.

"Wait, what?" He thought that Harry had wanted to forget? He ridiculously thought that Harry actually wanted to forget the best night of his entire life? Had the potion affected Malfoy's intelligence? Was it affecting him still? Should Harry drag him to the Hospital Wing immediately and demand that Madam Pomfrey take a look at him?

At his words, Malfoy's gaze shot up to fix him with the steely glare he had been directing toward the ground. "Do you have any fucking idea how mortified I was the morning after?" he demanded hotly. "I had practically _forced_ myself on you. I threw myself at you and called you _pretty_ and confessed that I had been mad for you for fucking ages. Does that sound humiliating enough to you yet?"

Wait, _what?_ Malfoy was _embarrassed_? He wasn't disgusted? He wasn't repulsed by the thought of having been with Harry? But how could Harry dare trust his words? After all, it had been firmly established that Draco Malfoy was, in fact, the owner of an Evil Dot.

"I wouldn't exactly say forced," Harry disagreed dryly, heart hammering a painful rhythm despite the steady tones of his sarcasm. "I don't seem to recall putting up much of a struggle."

Malfoy glanced away again and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "Well, when a free shag throws itself at you like that…"

The words were mumbled and barely heard, but a burgeoning hope was quickly building in Harry's chest. Was Malfoy attempting to say what Harry thought he might be?

"No, that's not what that was," Harry said cautiously. He wanted to be perfectly, unarguably clear with the other boy—no more misunderstandings. He had already revealed an embarrassing amount the previous day. It couldn't hurt his pride any more to try to see this through. As a Gryffindor, Harry was left with no choice but to square his jaw and face this the same way he faced everything else in his life—head-on.

"I wouldn't shag just anyone, Malfoy," Harry continued in a determined voice. "That really had been my first time with anyone. And I meant what I said yesterday, about having genuine feelings for you. It just took me a while to notice them, but I think maybe I've always had them. There's always been _something_ between us, at least, and I-"

Whatever else he had been about to say was cut off as Malfoy walked forward and kissed him, finally relaxing his hands from the fists clenched so furiously at his sides in order to slide them into Harry's hair and tug him closer, holding his face tightly between two warm palms as though terrified if he let go, Harry would vanish without a trace, blow away in the cool breeze like a puff of green-eyed smoke.

After a brief moment of shock, Harry melted into the kiss and returned it with a moan as he clutched fistfuls of Malfoy's robes in an effort to bring them closer. Malfoy made a muffled whimper and Harry strengthened his hold on the blond, angry and frustrated with the layers of clothing and unnecessary fabric separating them. He had dreamt about Malfoy and waited for him for far too long for something as trivial as _cloth_ to get in his way now.

"Come back to my dorm, Harry," Malfoy whispered, clutching Harry's waist and pressing their hips together, sending a hot surge of want racing through the brunet.

"Yeah, okay," Harry agreed breathlessly, kissing the smirk from Malfoy's mouth.

Easing back, Malfoy gently broke the kiss and tugged Harry quickly into the school, smirking as he pulled him down the steps leading to the dungeons before whispering to him to put on his Invisibility Cloak. Harry released the pale hand to comply, following closely behind Malfoy as he spoke the password and led Harry into the Slytherin Common Room. He briefly considered the fact that it had been years since he had last been inside, but he barely glanced around as he followed Malfoy's quick pace across the dimly lit room and down a stone passageway, at the end of which was Malfoy's dorm. He entered and held the door open long enough for Harry to slip inside before turning to the room and staring hard at the other occupant.

Theodore Nott was the only other male Slytherin to return in their year—Goyle had vanished into his grief over Crabbe's death, and Blaise Zabini had miraculously passed his N.E.W.T.'s the previous year, despite the darkness and the terror of the term, not to mention the horror of the Carrows. Harry had never been more grateful for the small number of returning Slytherins—it gave them fewer people to kick out of the room.

As though plucking the thoughts straight from Harry's brain, Malfoy spoke one word to Nott. "Out," he ordered simply.

Nott stared up at him from his book.

"Out," Malfoy repeated, a dangerous edge to the softly-spoken word. Nott immediately slammed the book shut in compliance, tucking it under one arm and shuffling quickly from the room. The door was shut, locked, and silenced behind him as Harry tugged the Cloak over his head in time to drop it to the floor before his arms were suddenly full of Malfoy, as was his mouth.

The blond tasted rich and bittersweet, like dark chocolate swirling across Harry's taste buds. All the desire that Harry had felt just a few nights ago returned full-force; he had never wanted anything as much as he wanted the boy in his arms, but for some reason that made him want to groan Malfoy was pulling away once again to stare very seriously at him.

"What about you and Ginevra?" he asked solemnly, wrapping his long fingers around Harry's wrist to still his efforts to tug the blond back towards him, but the question was more than enough to make Harry pause.

"Urgh," he wrinkled his nose at the thought. Him and _Ginny_? Why would Malfoy _say_ something like that? Now the image would be seared into his _brain_. "She's like my little sister." His nose wrinkled further at the words. "That would be like dating _Ron_."

At the obvious disgust etched across Harry's face, Malfoy laughed quietly and shook his head. "My apologies, then," he murmured, leaning forward for another kiss. "It appears I mistakenly thought the two of you involved."

"It's all right," Harry grinned, shrugging and speaking around kisses. "I thought your dot was evil."

The light pressure of lips against his own disappeared as Malfoy pulled back to stare him. "What?" he asked in confusion.

"I'll explain later," Harry laughed. There would be time to explain and time to laugh about it. There would be time to talk about so many things. But now was the time to be with Malfoy—no potions or wild accusations. Just the two of them together in the moment, no evil dots allowed.

As Malfoy began kissing a trail down his neck, he quickly lost all train of thought and decided to focus on the present. Malfoy's mouth was hot on his skin and Harry wondered if maybe he was using some sort of spell to make everything feel so brilliant. All he wanted was to lose himself in the feel of the other boy, but there was worry wiggling a squirming path through his brain, pulling his focus away from the blond in his embrace.

Sliding his hands up Malfoy's forearms, he gripped the lean biceps and gently pushed, but Malfoy refused to detach himself. Breath hitching, Harry lost himself in the sensation for several moments before the worry wormed its way back into the forefront of his mind and, with a wrench, was able to tear himself from Malfoy's clinging grasp.

"Wait," he panted, shaking his head in order to clear it. Malfoy froze instantly, standing perfectly still within his grip, but Harry could see shadows in his eyes and uncertainty in the way he held himself so stiffly. His face was blank and lips thinned as though expecting Harry to shove him away at any moment and laugh.

At the remembrance of the question he needed to ask, Harry very nearly did laugh but was able to swallow it before it burst hysterically from his throat. Now was undeniably the worst time for laughter.

"Draco," he murmured, releasing the other boy's arms in order to tangle his fingers lightly in Malfoy's silky hair. "I just…" he hesitated. How would his worries be received? Would Malfoy scoff? Laugh in his face? Confirm them and hurt him even more? Maybe this had been his real evil plan all along—seduce Harry into realizing his feelings for the Slytherin, leave him hurting and alone, then convince him to lower his guard once more before shattering him forever. It was an undeniably evil plan. Harry wanted to trust Malfoy, he really did, but would he be able to? Would he ever be able to truly trust Draco Malfoy?

Shaking off the lesser concerns, he pulled himself back into the moment, back into Malfoy's hooded grey eyes. "This isn't going to be like last time, is it?" He had to know, now, before this went any further. If this went as far as Harry wanted it to, if Malfoy pulled away from him again, it wasn't something he was sure he could recover from. Not this time.

As Malfoy grew even more still, Harry hastened to explain, "I just…it's not going to be like last time, right? You're not going to…disappear or resent me in the morning, are you?" By the time he finished speaking, his voice had become nearly pleading and his heart was thudding painfully, certain that with every pounding beat Malfoy would look at him and laugh coldly before throwing him from the dorm and leaving him to the mercy of the entire Slytherin house. His palms felt clammy as he waited for the harsh words to come.

But they never did. Instead, Malfoy's eyes softened and the tense lines around his mouth straightened out. "No, Harry," he vowed in a low voice. "It won't be anything like last time. I shall be in my right state of mind, for one." His tone was relaxed and teasing, but the words made Harry's gut clench. He still had no idea what the side effects of the potion had been, maybe the only reason Malfoy had wanted him was that he _hadn't_ been in his right state of mind. Maybe this was something that the blond thought he wanted now but would change his mind about quickly enough.

Shaking his head slowly at Harry's sudden tensing, Draco began speaking hesitantly. "I meant…everything I said that night," he confessed, his entire upper body flushing bright pink. He didn't move away from Harry but refused to look at him, instead keeping his eyes fixed on either the wall behind Harry's head or flicking down to rest on their shoes, Harry's scruffy old trainers and Malfoy's immaculate leather—most likely Italian and handcrafted and nauseatingly expensive—loafers.

"Everything?" Harry wasn't sure if he would be able to believe that. Malfoy had really meant everything? How could he have meant _everything_? He had said so much, so many pretty words that had made Harry melt. But Malfoy hadn't been in his right state of mind then, as he himself had admitted only moments ago. Could he really have meant _everything_?

"You've always thought I was pretty? You've been mad for me for _ages_?" Harry asked, nonplussed. Surely those words had been the effect of the potion. Or maybe just of the moment. Had Malfoy really meant them? How could he have? How could Harry trust him now? What was really the truth and how could Harry differentiate it from everything the blond had said to him over the years? They had so much bad history; could the slate really be wiped clean just like that? Was it really such a simple thing?

Harry wasn't entirely sure, but the way that Malfoy was looking, so flustered and endearingly shy, made Harry want to try. It reminded him of the way Malfoy had behaved the other night—when he had been Draco. Was Draco not as lost as Harry had thought? The silence stretched and Malfoy's eyes flashed.

"Yes, all right?" he snapped, the defensive tone a contrast to his earlier moment of shyness. "Everything, dammit."

But Harry had been ready for his anger, known exactly what his reaction would be. Hell, Harry _knew_ Malfoy. The way he had watched the blond over the years, it would be impossible not to know him. He had been in Harry's life since the very beginning of his introduction into the wizarding world—he was the first wizard Harry had met who had met just Harry and not the Boy Who Lived. How had he never realized this attraction earlier? Thinking back on it, how had he never before noticed how much time he actually spent thinking about Malfoy? The answer was far more than enough to make him feel like an oblivious idiot.

And how had he never recognized the fact that, even when angry and flushed, Malfoy was beautiful? His lips were the same soft pink they had always been, his cheekbones still sharp, jawline and nose still perfectly straight, but it was like Harry was seeing him differently, like a filter had been removed from his vision. He no longer saw Malfoy, the skinny prat with slicked back hair from Harry's childhood, threatening peers and making snide remarks. That Malfoy was hopefully gone forever. Was Draco back? Should Harry start thinking of him as Draco instead? It was Draco that Harry wanted. He had missed him terribly the last few days.

As Harry pondered how best to respond, Malfoy's expression grew warier and his stance loosened somewhat—he appeared to be readying himself for defeat, as though rejection was the only outcome he thought possible for such a declaration.

But Harry was at a loss, and instead of the profound words he had been searching for, all he could respond with was a simple, "Good," before leaning forward to kiss the other boy.

Pale hands shot up to wrap around Harry's neck, holding him in place. Malfoy sighed as he finally relaxed, melting into Harry in a way that had the brunet panting and tugging desperately at Slytherin robes, sliding them from Malfoy's narrow shoulders, Harry's robes quickly joining them on the floor. School ties were yanked off to be tossed blindly aside before Harry was fumbling with the buttons of Malfoy's shirt.

As the buttons proved to be numerous and uncooperative, Harry made a whining sound in the back of his throat as his fingers clumsily failed to slip them free of the cloth. Chuckling softly, Malfoy swatted his hands away and swiftly undid his own remaining buttons before grabbing Harry's shirt near the collar and tearing sharply, sending buttons popping from their threads to bounce and scatter across the room.

"Hey!" Harry yelped, startled at the sudden cool air on his chest. Why did Malfoy have to ruin his shirt after his own had been successfully removed? But even at his meager protest, he felt a flash of heat at Malfoy's impatience and obvious desire.

"Wizards, Harry," he murmured, sliding his palms along the smooth planes of Harry's chest. "Fuck the fucking buttons."

"Right. Magic," Harry agreed absently, already forgetting about the ruined shirt lying crumpled on the floor at their feet. His breath hitched as Malfoy backed him against the wall, his hands never pausing in their exploration as they roamed over the bare skin of Harry's chest and back, ghosting over his ribs and abdomen. They slid down to tease lightly along the skin above Harry's waistband.

"Yes," he said automatically, lost in a haze, unsure of just what exactly he was agreeing to. All he knew was that he needed Malfoy's hands on him, he needed the pale skin against his own, he needed to hear the tiny whimpers that Malfoy made as Harry kissed him deeply and raked his fingers through the other boy's blond hair.

Malfoy seemed to understand and was eager to comply. His mouth left Harry's to trail down his throat and chest, licking a burning path down his abdomen until Malfoy was on his knees, mouth hot against the skin of Harry's hip, nimble fingers slipping open the fastenings on Harry's trousers. Without warning, Harry felt his remaining clothing tugged down to his ankles before Draco's mouth was suddenly on him.

With a moan Harry bucked his hips wildly, lost in the sensation of the wet warmth enveloping his straining cock, swallowing him down and encasing him in velvety heat. It felt brilliant; Draco was brilliant. Everything about him was brilliant and beautiful and amazing and how had Harry lived eighteen years without him? How had he ever thought Malfoy to have an Evil Dot? He was most definitely _not_ evil, unless his dastardly scheme was to shatter Harry into a thousand trembling pieces with the sheer force of his own pleasure, in which case it was the most delicious form of evil that Harry had ever encountered. He could be okay with that kind of evil existing in the world—in fact, he encouraged it.

Several moments of intense heat later, he could feel himself cracking into those thousand pieces as pale fingers gripped his hips tighter. Harry stuttered out a warning, one that Malfoy ignored, stroking the skin of Harry's hip in encouragement and at the approval, Harry's back arched against the wall as he cried out and came _hard_. He could feel Draco swallowing around him and moaned at the sensation.

Soft kisses were pressed against the insides of his trembling thighs before Draco stood, eyeing Harry cautiously as though expecting him to come to his senses at any moment and run. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Harry tugged the blond in close for a kiss, noting with bemused arousal that he could taste himself on Malfoy's tongue.

There was a distinct hardness pressing into his hip, reminding him that Draco still hadn't come, and he wondered what it would be like to return the favor. If someone would have asked him several days ago, the thought of putting another boy's cock in his mouth would have been, maybe not repulsive, but not something Harry had ever thought about or would ever consider. But now…the thought made him curiously flushed.

Gripping the pale shoulders tightly, Harry gently turned the two of them until their positions were reversed, with Malfoy pressed into the wall and Harry on his knees before him, tugging the teen's trousers and pants down his pale, hairless thighs. Reaching out to wrap a hand around the base of Malfoy's cock, Harry eyed it with interest for a moment. Two trembling hands slid into his thick hair to settle gently on his scalp, caressing it softly. Green eyes slid closed for several seconds, enjoying the sensation, before leaning forward to press a brief kiss to Draco's pale hipbone. He sucked on the spot for a minute, grazing over it with teeth and tongue before dragging his lips through the crisp, blond curls surrounding the other boy's erection before finally wrapping his mouth around the cock still clutched in one hand.

There was a sharp intake of breath from above him as Harry swirled his tongue around the tip before slowly attempting to swallow as much of the shaft as he could. He was forced to concede defeat to his gag reflex after not too long, however, and pulled back, not wanting to embarrass himself by choking.

Above him, Malfoy was moaning and whimpering as his fingers tightened in Harry's hair. He could tell that Draco was close by the breaths becoming stuttered and broken, Malfoy groaning out a warning amidst a stream of profanities. Remembering the way Malfoy had refused to move his mouth when sucking Harry off, he did the same, pulling his lips back to the tip just as Draco came. It was an interesting taste—bitter and familiar, like his own he had tasted on Malfoy's tongue, but also different, something more unique to the blond, maybe. Or maybe Harry was just sentimental after such excellent orgasms.

Standing slowly, he winced at the throb in his knees, joints creaking as he straightened up to kiss the other boy gently before resting his forehead against Malfoy's.

"That was definitely not evil," Harry chuckled. His Evil Dot Theory seemed utterly ridiculous now and he silently laughed at himself.

Malfoy looked for a moment as if he would like to say something, but thought better of it, a sly look crossing his face instead. "I really don't mind you thinking of me as evil, Harry," he murmured, pressing barely-there kisses across Harry's cheeks and jaw. "In fact," he pulled back slightly with a smirk, one eyebrow raised, "who's to say I'm not?"

Snorting, Harry shook his head. "You're not evil, Draco. I was wrong."

"You caught me breaking into locked offices after hours, Potter," he argued softly, eyes glittering with amusement, "brewing dangerous potions. It could have been anything. I could very well be scheming as we speak."

"That potion was hardly dangerous, all it did was make you sweet and adorable," Harry grinned, smile widening at the affronted expression that crossed Malfoy's face at the words.

"Sweet and adorable?" he scoffed. "Hardly. As if I am capable of being either sweet or adorable. More like inebriated and idiotic."

"Oh, I dunno, Malfoy," Harry disagreed cheerfully. "I seem to recall some very sweet things being said about me and my eyes. Like wild ivy, I believe I was told."

Flushing bright pink, Malfoy glanced away before responding, "Yes, well, as I've said, I was not in my right state of mind." Fidgeting, he shifted his weight between feet. "I can hardly be blamed for any foolishness uttered."

Despite how adorable Harry was finding a flustered Draco, he decided to take pity on the other boy. "I thought it was very sweet," he promised, capturing Malfoy's pouting mouth in a gentle kiss.

Malfoy huffed but responded, and as the kiss deepened and Harry felt the rest of his body start to respond, he silently laughed at himself once more for his entire Evil Dot Theory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On to the epilogue we go!


	3. EPILOGUE

"So, planning something terrible, was he?" Ron asked sarcastically, one eyebrow raised. When Harry and Draco had first approached Ron and Hermione in the library, his blue eyes had fallen straight to their entwined hands, only lifting to look Harry in the eye long enough to give him a sardonic stare.

It had been four days—four lovely, wonderful days since Harry and Draco had cleared up their misunderstandings. Four days of heated looks across crowded rooms, sneaking away at mealtimes and during free periods, only to return with clothes rumpled and hair disheveled. Four days of waking up every morning with a smile. And after four excellent days, they were both decided to no longer keep their relationship a secret, consequences and public opinion be damned.

And so here they were, four days later, walking into the library with their hands clasped together tightly and twin glints of defiance in their eyes. Ron and Hermione had been easy enough to find, seated predictably at Hermione's usual table, the usual amount of heavy involved-looking books spread in an expanding ripple of text before her. Ron sat to her right, taking up much less room at the table and frowning down at his notes with a sullen expression when his blue eyes flicked up to notice Harry and Draco approaching.

The same blue eyes were still staring at Harry, almost with fond exasperation as the redhead continued speaking in a nudging tone, "Up to something evil then, eh? Someone warned me it might even be worse than last time."

At Ron's words, Draco raised an eyebrow at Harry, who flushed and shrugged helplessly at Ron. "Turns out his dot wasn't evil, after all," he explained awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck in a self-conscious gesture.

The other three stared at him strangely, Ron opening his mouth several times before taking a deep breath. "Well, all right, then," he nodded firmly. "Just as long as his dot isn't evil." Turning back to his notes, he began frowning at them once again.

"Wait, that's it?" Harry asked in confusion. Where was the yelling about Malfoy's past? The argument about who he was and what he had once stood for? Why weren't they bringing up their younger days and shoving their history into their faces? Where were the guilt and the betrayed looks? Why weren't they mentioning the Manor or any of the thousands of past altercations the two had gotten into? Why the hell wasn't Ron saying _anything_?

But it was Hermione who answered, giving the brunet a pitying stare. "Harry, nobody is surprised by this," she said slowly, as though explaining a basic, well-known fact to someone simple.

"Yeah, mate, honestly," Ron guffawed. "Following him around, obsessing over him all these years, suspecting him of the most ridiculous shit? I mean honestly, Harry, evil dots and Dark schemes?" Harry flushed as Draco chuckled softly.

"And you," Ron continued, swinging his blue gaze to lock onto Malfoy and pointing a finger at the blond. "You picked a fight with him every time the two of you were in the same fucking room. Couldn't go ten minutes without you needing his attention."

It was Malfoy's turn to flush as Harry grinned and Hermione coughed a laugh.

"Absurd," Draco sputtered. "His mere presence provoked me, is all."

"Yeah, provoked you to flirt with him," Ron muttered, causing Malfoy to darken further.

"And provoked Harry to flirt back," Hermione added, not bothering to hide an uncharacteristic smirk she traded with Ron.

"Oh, like I was the only one who flirted with him, Hermione," Harry blushed. Draco was bloody gorgeous, for Merlin's sake. It was hardly Harry's fault if he had wanted the attention of someone as beautiful as the blond, even if he hadn't realized the reasons behind the desire when he was younger. They had figured it out eventually.

Glancing to his right, he was startled to see Draco giving him a heated look, one eyebrow raised as he raked a possessive gaze over Harry.

"No, no," Ron interrupted loudly, snapping both boy's attentions back to the two Gryffindors sitting across the table from them. "None of that now, not here, in decent public places, in front of decent innocent people who would like to be able to sleep at night instead of lying permanently awake in both incurable horror and the pain of having to gouge my eyeballs out at the sight of my best friend snogging the sodding Ferret, m'k?" The speech was ended with a pointed stare.

"Fine for now, Weasel," Malfoy replied, eyes glittering with annoyed amusement. "There will be countless opportunities for you to see plenty in the future." He bent closer toward him, leaning over the table to speak his next words in a low, soft voice. "It could happen anywhere, at any time. You could be naively walking along a corridor, any corridor, thinking about something trivial, nothing at all, really, you're not paying attention, when you turn a corner and BAM!—"-and with that word Malfoy slapped a palm down sharply against the wood of the table, smirking as Ron jumped—"Harry and I are there, snogging." Ron winced and recoiled, paling slightly. "Possibly even groping," Draco whispered loudly, shooting theatrical looks around him.

Ron made a noise of distress and turned to Hermione as Harry laughed. "Have I not suffered enough, Hermione?" he demanded, throwing a dark look at a smug Malfoy. "Have we not been through enough without the added risk of constant heart failure? I make it through the whole bloody war just to be killed off from shock and horror at the sight of these two bloody _groping_ each other in a bloody _corridor_." He shuddered and turned pleading eyes to the brunet across from him.

"I'm your best mate, right, Harry?" he asked, sounding desperate. "You wouldn't want any harm to come to me, yeah?" Harry grinned and shrugged, shaking his head. "Well, I promise that if I am ever witness to either of you fondling the other, it may just be enough to guarantee my painful untimely death," Ron vowed, his voice taking on a hint of a whine. "Don't be the cause of my death, Harry."

"Oh honestly, Ronald," Hermione scoffed, lips twitching. "Don't be so dramatic. They're rather sweet together, aren't they?" Her words included a gesture and Ron followed it to the two boys sitting across from him, only to turn horrified eyes back to her, shaking his head profusely.

"Not how I would describe them," he said weakly as Harry shifted his chair closer to Malfoy and the blond pressed a lingering kiss to his cheekbone.

"If this was really so inevitable and all of you really saw it coming, it shouldn't be such a shock," Harry pointed out. "You should've had plenty of time to prepare for this."

"Trust me, Harry," Ron shook his head. "Nothing could prepare me for the sight of you cuddling up to _Malfoy_ , I don't care how obvious the two of you have been over the years. I mean, imagine me suddenly announcing I was shagging _Goyle_."

At his words, all four of them blanched, Draco recovering enough to direct a glare at Ron. "As if," he sneered. "Even Greg has better taste than that. Er, no offense, Granger," he added quickly, flushing sheepishly.

"That's fine, Malfoy," Hermione snickered, leveling Ron with a pointed stare.

"Er, yeah, maybe that was a bad example," he relented, raking a hand through his coppery hair. "But still, think of that image, and know a fraction of my current suffering at the thought of the two of you."

Harry rolled his eyes as he played with the nearly silvery strands of hair at Draco's nape. "Hermione's right, Ron," he said, "don't be so dramatic."

"Oh, I'm the dramatic one?" Ron raised an eyebrow. "Remind us again what evil scheme Malfoy was up to this week? Because I feel like it's something different every few days."

"Yes, just how evil am I, Potter?" Draco asked coyly, running one pale finger along Harry's jaw and down the side of his neck. "I sound rather wicked, don't I?" Holding Harry's jaw with one firm hand, he bent forward to kiss him deeply, and Harry wasn't sure if the passion was driven more out of a desire to make Ron uncomfortable or if Malfoy was attempting to express his full villainy through the smoldering heat of the kiss. Quickly deciding it didn't matter, Harry sighed into the touch, but they broke apart to frown at the gagging and retching noises coming from the seat across from them.

Ron was gripping the edge of the table tightly with both hands, knuckles white and eyes squeezed shut. Air was being dragged heavily into his lungs and he seemed to be struggling for words. "Don't bloody fucking _do_ that," he finally muttered, eyes refusing to open. "Bloody—fucking—Merlin, fucking ponces everywhere I turn, can't even fucking warn a poor bloke, my bleeding _heart_ , though, honestly…" his voice trailed off into mumbled profanities, something Hermione responded to by swatting his arm sharply. Draco snickered.

"I found out about that potion for you, Harry," Hermione said suddenly, changing the subject in what Harry had a feeling was an attempt to either stop Ron from swearing, stop Malfoy from responding to him, or stop them from kissing again. Probably a combination of all three, Harry decided.

"Oh, right, the potion," he said weakly. He had completely forgotten that he had asked Hermione to look into that, and, never having explained the reasons or details behind the question, she was now bringing it up in front of Draco, who raised a silver eyebrow at him.

"Yes, I found out quite a while ago, but Ron and I have hardly seen you these last few days," she commented dryly, staring between Harry and Draco with an amused expression.

"Yes, we wonder where you've been, Harry?" Ron added loudly, trying to keep his face stern despite his twitching lips. "How many innocent, hardworking students have you given heart failure to by them walking into the sight of the two of you eating each other's faces off in various corridors around the school?"

"Only the ones lucky enough to see," Draco smirked, raking a hand through Harry's hair.

"So the potion," Hermione interrupted before Ron could respond. "It was rather difficult to get a straight answer on the side effects of the potion, since such things depend a lot of the time on what stage it was currently in, as well as the fact that many of the books on the subject were destroyed last year and I haven't had very much to go off of." Her tone took on a sad, angry timbre, as though the destruction of books was somehow the worst thing that Voldemort had done in the war. "But I wrote to Astolpho Scriven—the top Potions master in Britain, Harry," she sighed and added at his blank look, receiving an amused head shake from Draco as well. "He wrote back and informed me that it was more or less similar to the effects of alcohol, though depending on the stage it was in at the time the severity of the inebriation would be affected. He said that it was mostly a temporary lowering of inhibitions, really."

"Hmmm, and what potion is this, Potter?" Harry glanced up to find Draco gazing at him, an unreadable look in his eyes.

"Oh, er, Retention Potion," he mumbled. "I was just…curious?" Draco snorted and shook his head at the words.

"Scriven also made it a point to inform me, Harry," Hermione said, glancing between them suspiciously, "that the Retention Potion is banned in situations such as N.E.W.T.'s. It's banned in regards to all school testing, in fact." She directed her gaze to Malfoy, who shrugged, pointedly not looking at Harry.

"Yes, well, we wouldn't want to allow any students any unfair advantages," the blond sniffed. "Even though it's incredibly fucking difficult to make and sometimes stupid Gryffindors interrupt you halfway through to accuse you of appallingly outlandish things, endangering your poor, misunderstood well-being."

"Misunderstood? Outlandish?" Harry snorted. "Draco, you were brewing an _illegal_ potion in the locked office of a dead professor well after curfew."

"The potion itself is legal, Harry," Malfoy argued. "The only thing that was illegal was my, you know, intentions for it," he finished sheepishly before straightening and shrugging defiantly at the three Gryffindors. "Evil Dot, remember?" he said, pointing to himself. "I can hardly be blamed for following my nature."

"He's got a point, Harry," Ron grinned. "Just let him follow his nature. His evil nature, sneaking around, brewing evil things. It's what Evil Dots do."

Harry sent an exasperated look in Ron's direction, succeeding only in widening the smile already stretching the freckled features of the other teen. Turning to Draco, he found him smirking as well.

"You really are evil, aren't you?" Harry asked fondly, shaking his head.

"Sweet, lovely Harry," Draco murmured, leaning forward to press a kiss to his lips. "Whoever told you I wasn't?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand The End. Sorry the epilogue ended up being so short. But fear not, my Evil Dots, I am already mentally sorting through possibilities for a sequel!


End file.
